One for All formerly Untitled 1972
by Sockie and Stanzi
Summary: After receiving some devastating news, the team decides to break out of Fort Bragg and begin their lives on the run.
1. Chapter 1

Title: One for All…

Authors: Stanzi and Sockie

Rating: PG-13

Summary: After receiving some devastating news, the team decides to break out of Fort Bragg and begin their lives on the run.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: We don't own the guys or make any money off this

Chapter 1

"What am I doing?"

The man in the mirror did not answer back.

Behind, up, over. Tuck in, and adjust up. There. The tie was knotted to military perfection. Even if the mission he was about to embark on was not military approved. In fact, if caught, it would get him court-martialed.

He took the jacket off the hanger and slipped it on. He slowly fastened the four brass buttons, tugged at the jacket, and then smoothed it down. His eyes lingered over the ribbons that now adorned his chest. The silver star, purple heart, and presidential unit citations, among others. An impressive collection of medals for such a young officer. Was he really willing to throw his career away?

"Do I really have a choice?"

The man in the mirror remained silent.

But he already knew the answer. Of course he had a choice. There was always a choice. But they were his unit. Maybe not on paper, but in his head. And in his heart. And you've got to stick with your unit.

He placed his captain's hat on his head and took one final look in the mirror. Determination reflected in his eyes.

The time for introspection was over. It was showtime.

How could it have come to this?

Hannibal lay on the top bunk, listening to the sounds of his men. B. A. slept fitfully; he could hear the occasional growl from his Sergeant and feel the shaking of the bunk when he rolled around uneasily. Face was snuggled into his pillow on the top bunk across the cell from Hannibal, a sleepy smile on his features. He was probably dreaming of the last pretty little thing he'd spent time with before the mission.

The mission. How could it have gone so wrong? His eyes narrowed in the dark. The plan had been fine, he reminded himself as he went back over the particulars of the bank job. It was not his fault that the orders authorizing the robbery were now in the rubble of what had been the HQ.

And where the hell was Morrison—the only person who could clear them of the robbery charges? He needed a cigar to work on this one. Face had theorized that Morrison must be a prisoner—during the attack, it would have been SOP for Charlie to capture any high ranking officers and take them for interrogation. Hannibal supposed it was true. Now that the war was over, they had pinned their hopes on the fact that Morrison would be found as soldiers were released from the P. O. W. camps. He didn't want to consider the alternative and hadn't mentioned it to either of his men. If Morrison wasn't alive, they were screwed—big time.

He heard B.A. below, muttering in his sleep. Two months of prison life was beginning to take its toll. It took all of Hannibal's skills as a leader to keep B. A. from trying to kill the guards on a daily basis. After all, B.A. hadn't earned his nickname for being polite and laid-back. Hannibal knew how important it was for them to remain model prisoners. If things did go to court-martial before they found Morrison, anything they did while in custody could be seen as a guilty mark against them.

Face seemed to be handling everything well, but emotions were easy for him to hide. There was a tension building in the young man's eyes that belied his easygoing manner. At least Murdock had been able to keep out of this. He'd simply dropped them off and headed back to base to fly other missions. No taint of blame would be on him.

But the others…Hannibal sighed in frustration, unable to keep from feeling this was his fault somehow. He should be able to get his men out of this. They had performed their duty just as it had been expected of them, and this was their reward? He shook his head, determined. He wasn't going to let it happen. He didn't know what he was going to do, but they weren't going down like this. Court-martialed and disgraced? Not on his watch.

Not on his watch.

He slowed to car to a stop as he approached the guard station. A young corporal emerged from a small booth at the entrance. Upon seeing the rank insignia on the captain's lapel, he saluted.

"Welcome to Fort Bragg, Captain. May I have your name?"

"Williams." He offered a tentative smile as well, hoping that would help deflect his lie.

The corporal gave a cursory glance at Williams name tag and nodded.

"Are you here on official business, Captain Williams?"

"No -- just visiting some old friends." He was thankful his fake nametag had passed muster. He just hoped the corporal would not see how white his knuckles were as he clutched the steering wheel.

"Very well. Have a good day, sir." He quickly saluted again, then raised the striped wooden barrier.

The captain briefly smiled again, then drove through the entrance. He exhaled a large sigh of relief. First test passed. He might not be as good at scams as Face, but he had learned a few things from the conman.

He drove down the lane through the base until he reached Womack Medical Center. He then drove around the side of the building until he saw the medical vehicle motor pool. On the second row were several vans used to transport medical equipment and non-critical patients. He pulled into the parking lot, parked his car, and got out. After casually surveying the area to ensure nobody was watching, he took a large box out of the trunk of the car and began walking towards the vans. Upon reaching the second van, he stopped.

Placing a hand on the side of the van, he bowed his head, gathering his courage. This was the point of no return. He could just walk away, if he wanted to: no harm, no foul. Once he "borrowed" the van, he couldn't change his mind. The captain looked up, searching for a sign, and caught sight of a hawk, sailing over the roof of the motor pool. The silent communion they shared lasted only a moment before the bird disappeared. He couldn't help but feel it was a good omen.

With one final glance around, he opened the driver's door and climbed in, placing the box in the back. Within minutes, the hotwired van purred to life. Second test passed. The captain could not help but grin, genuinely this time, as he put the van in gear and drove away.

"May I help you, captain?" the sergeant asked.

"Yes. I am here to transport 3 of the prisoners over to Womack for their pre-trial psych evaluation. Let's see…" he made a show of looking at the paperwork on his clipboard. "Ah, yes -- their names are Smith, Peck, and Baracus."

"I don't see that on the schedule for today." The sergeant frowned, while looking through the papers on the desk. "I'll need to see the orders."

"Of course", the captain said, and handing over his paperwork. The paper the orders were on was legit, even if the actual orders themselves were not. He had swiped blank forms off an empty desk at Womack earlier in the week.

After an agonizing few minutes, the sergeant handed back the papers. He then looked out the window at the van, which clearly had "Womack Medical Center" marked on the door. He still did not look comfortable, but knew better than to question a superior officer further.

"Alright, I'll bring them to you. But you'll need to wait for them in a holding cell. I'll show you the way."

"Thank you." the captain replied, before following the sergeant down the hall. Third test passed. Only one left. And it was the big one.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Let's go." Two guards came and unlocked the door to their cell, and all three of the occupants looked up in surprise. It wasn't quite time to head to their work shift. B. A. worked in the motor repair shop, while Face and Hannibal had been stuck in the laundry. The work was boring, but it passed the time.

Hannibal exchanged uneasy looks with B. A. and Face, and then shifted his gaze to the sergeant who had entered the cell. "You've got an appointment at Womack Medical Center," the man explained. He held up a handful of cuffs and leg irons, then proceeded to cuff Hannibal and Face's wrists and ankles. B. A. didn't go as easy, and let out a soft growl when the unfortunate officer began to approach. Hannibal shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and B. A. calmed down. Although he wasn't happy about it, he allowed himself to be cuffed.

They hobbled down the hallway to a small holding cell, where prisoners usually waited for transport. In the room was a tall officer, in dress uniform. He stood with his back to the door, hands clasped behind his back, apparently studying a map on the wall. He partially turned to speak to the sergeant, his hat shading the features of his face. "Thank you," he said curtly. "I'll take it from here."

The sergeant, sensing everything was in control, saluted the captain. The gesture was returned, then the four men were alone.

The captain turned and faced the prisoners, removing his hat. All three men gasped in shock. The man standing before them was the last person they expected to see.

"Murdock!" Hannibal hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"Breaking you out!" Murdock whispered earnestly.

"Breaking us out?" Face muttered, clearly confused. "Why would we want to break out? We haven't done anything wrong and we should be cleared before the court-martial. Once they find Morrison -- "

"Face!" Murdock interrupted, urgently, clearly trying to keep his voice down. "Morrison is dead! I know it and the army knows it! But apparently, they didn't tell you!"

"Dead?" Hannibal questioned furiously, jaw set, anger burning in his eyes. "Do you know for sure he's dead?"

"I saw the records -- I wasn't supposed to, but I did. And now I'm here to get you out. You're got about one minute to decide if you want to go." Murdock hated to see the disappointment and anger in each of their faces. He hadn't wanted to be the person to bring them this news. But the guys had a right to know the truth.

There was a long pause, each of them digesting the news. Again Hannibal felt the heaviness of responsibility for his unit. These men had been depending on him; they'd counted on him when he'd said everything would turn out alright. Now . . . they would be doing hard time. He narrowed his eyes in rage; they were being wronged in the worst way by the country that they had loved and sacrificed for.

"Well . . . you heard the Captain," Hannibal said, looking at B. A. and Face in turn. "What's it going to be? With Morrison dead, we'll be convicted for sure. We can stay in here and wait for a sentence, or we can break out. Personally, I vote for getting out of here. I'm tired of washing laundry." He raised an eyebrow at them, feeling the familiar tingle of the jazz return. It felt like life flooding his veins once again. .

"Me too," Face said, looking from Hannibal to Murdock. "All that steam was bad for my complexion anyway." His remark might have been flippant, but his eyes flashed as he spoke. The lieutenant had been waiting to take some kind of action.

"B. A.?" Hannibal asked.

B. A.'s face was dark with indecision. "I don't know . . . ," he began, wondering what his mama would think about all this. She hadn't raised a criminal . . . this would break her heart, whether he stayed in jail or not, but becoming a fugitive on the run? He looked helplessly to Hannibal. "Mama. I don't know what this would do to her." He admitted.

Hannibal put a hand on B.A.'s giant shoulder. The chains of his cuffs made a soft clinking sound, as if to remind them what their future in prison held for them. "Sergeant," he said softly. "At least, if we're free, we might have a chance to somehow prove that we're innocent one day. If we stay in here . . . you might not ever see your mother again except on visiting day."

B. A. came to a decision as he read Hannibal's blue eyes. This man . . . he was one of the few that the Sergeant had come to trust in his time in the military. And he was the only CO who had ever managed to earn his respect.

Hannibal had done that and much more. He'd always treated B. A. as a valued member of the team, as someone with something important to say. The young black man, just in his early 20's, hadn't had such an experience in the military or in his former life back in Chicago. Unlike many of the CO's in the army, Hannibal didn't seem to care where he was from or what color his skin was. He cared about having good soldiers on his team. It had motivated B. A. to be the best at everything. Being a part of something had changed him; it had made him a better man and a loyal member of the team. How could he not hang with them on this?

"Okay, I'm with you," B. A. said. "Let's do it. I'll explain it to Mama later."

This exchange had taken more than a minute, and Murdock was beginning to look very uncomfortable. At B.A.'s decision, however, he sighed with relief. "The van's outside. You guys go first." he said, and gestured towards the door.

The bite in the autumn air hit them as they stepped out of the prison barracks. Sure, they had their daily time in the yard, but this was different. The air crackled with an electric current of possibilities. It was as if they could already taste the freedom that awaited them in a few short minutes.

Hannibal looked over his men. Murdock looked a little nervous, understandably. Face was smiling almost imperceptibly, and B.A. was slightly scowling, worry evident in his eyes. But only someone who knew them well would see anything; to outsiders, they looked indifferent.

They crunched through the leaves as they walked slowly to the van. The leg irons made it difficult to move and besides, they did not want to call attention to themselves by moving too fast.

"When we get in the van, I'll remove your chains." Murdock whispered, barely moving his mouth. "I have some uniforms you can change into. Hopefully we'll be long gone before they even notice you're missing."

They were about 10 feet away from the van when they heard the sound of footsteps running behind them. Too many footsteps. And closing too fast.

"Stop!" a voice yelled at them. "Military Police! Stop where you are and raise your hands!"

They all froze. The color drained from Murdock's face. They had been caught. His heart began to beat wildly. In a moment, he just added an extra 20 years to his friends' jail time. And now he would be there, serving it with them. He closed his eyes tightly and silently cursed. After a brief moment, he reopened his eyes. He quickly pulled out a gun, grabbed Hannibal by the arm, and whipped around to face the MPs, the barrel of the gun pressed tightly to Hannibal's side.

"You have to let them go!" Murdock screamed frantically at the MPs, who stopped running once they saw Hannibal was now a hostage. "These men are our only hope!"

A colonel, clearly the leader of the MPs, stepped forward. "Put the gun down, captain. It's over. Surrender now, and no harm will come to you or your friends."

"I can't! We're all doomed without them. Can't you see that? They're the only ones who can stop them!"

"Stop who?" the colonel asked calmly as he slowly eased forward.

"The aliens!" Murdock cried. "They're killing everyone with their heat rays and poison gas! They've already taken New York! Don't you see? If they aren't stopped, we'll all be dead!"

The rest of the MPs nervously looked at their CO, then back at Murdock, who was rapidly falling apart while they watched. His breath came in terrified gasps. "You don't understand," he continued. "This is the end of the world!"

Hannibal shared a glance with Murdock for the briefest of moments. It told him all he needed to know. "I know, Murdock," he said soothingly, as Murdock jammed the gun more firmly into his side. "I've been trying to explain to them that they needed to let us go, but this isn't the way."

Face and B.A. remained frozen in place, their cuffed hands raised into the air. In the space of less than a minute, their friend had turned from a rational man to a ranting, raving lunatic. They didn't want to get anyone shot, so they stayed motionless, watching the scene play out in front of them.

Murdock looked at Hannibal and pleaded: "You're the only ones who can save us. If . . . if they don't let you go, I'm going to have to do something drastic," Murdock promised.

He then looked at the MPs with desperation in his eyes. "You think I'm crazy, but I'm not. Turn on the radio, and you'll hear the screams." He stared at the soldiers with wide eyes. "I can hear them right now. They keep me up late at night . . . ."

There was no radio, of course, and no screams. Face and B.A. watched helplessly as MPs began to surround Hannibal and Murdock.

"Don't shoot anyone." Hannibal said to the MPs, as Murdock tightened his grip and began muttering about 'death rays' and 'screams.'

With an appraising glance, Hannibal noticed the positions of the men moving in on them; they were still a good distance away. Quite a few of them had their weapons drawn, and looked prepared to use them. Next to the colonel was another officer with a .45 pistol drawn and trained on Murdock. Murdock's sweaty palm clutched Hannibal's arm tightly as his eyes also followed the MPs creeping up on them.

"He hasn't been himself since he flew for us in 'Nam." Hannibal told the MPs, hoping that would explain things enough for them. "Let me talk to him . . ."

There was a nod from the colonel, but instead of being a response to Hannibal's request, it was a "go ahead" to the officer beside him. A shot rang out and Murdock groaned and crumpled to the ground. Furious, Hannibal crouched beside his captain, noting the rapidly spreading darkness on the right shoulder of his uniform. In a brief moment, he surveyed the damage as much as he could through layers of clothing, then met Murdock's dark eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir," Murdock gasped for breath against the pain. His words were a mere whisper. "I did my best." He looked both scared and sad. Hannibal knew what a perfectionist Murdock was when it came to a mission for the team. In his captain's mind, this hadn't been any different, and he felt like he'd failed them.

"I know. Hold on, Captain." Hannibal said, a grimace on his face as he put pressure against the wound, feeling the hot blood pulse through his fingers. Murdock's dark stare was losing some of its focus as the pain and blood loss stole his consciousness from him. One of the soldiers snatched Hannibal up and dragged him away as a group of MPs surrounded Murdock. Hannibal was forced back over to where Face and B.A. were being held.

"I want to know who that man is," the voice came from behind the would-be-fugitives, but Hannibal didn't hear it. He was staring down at the blood on his hands. He finally looked up when the colonel, whose nametag read "Lynch", walked over and faced him. The two men eyed each other for a long moment.

"You'd better hope he makes it, or I'm coming after you." The controlled rage and anger colored Hannibal's eyes, but he remained calm and steady.

His words weren't a threat.

They were a promise.

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Consciousness was like a dim spotlight that slowly widened and brightened until Murdock opened his eyes, looking up at the face above him. The man looked vaguely familiar. He tried to remember, but it was all a blur. Yelling, heat rays and poison gas…. It made him groan with the effort. Something was terribly wrong. Where was he? Had he crashed? He certainly felt like he had.

He glanced away from the man and tried to orient himself. This didn't look like a field hospital. He had come back from 'Nam . . . so had his unit. A bank robbery. . . prison. . . he began to put the pieces together to form a very fragmented and confusing picture.

"Captain H. M. Murdock," Lynch interrupted his thoughts. Murdock realized the man was intently studying his reactions. "I'm Colonel Lynch. I have a few questions for you."

The Colonel's gruff manner unsettled Murdock, but no inkling of it showed through his expression, which he held carefully in check. Being watched like this set off all kinds of alarm bells in his head. While trying to move around in the bed, his hand clinked against the metal side supports, and he saw he was handcuffed. More bits and pieces began to return.

"The aliens," He murmured. "They shot me, Colonel." His head spun with whatever cocktail of drugs they had given him, but he tried to remain conscious and focused. He was as weak as water, though; he realized it when reached out and tried to grasp the Colonel's arm. "Did you get the one that shot me? We have to get the team up to Grover's Mill. They are the only ones who can save us."

Lynch appeared slightly unnerved by Murdock's rambling, but continued on with his rehearsed lines anyway. "You were caught helping three prisoners escape, Captain Murdock. Don't try to fool us with this story about aliens. This was carefully orchestrated. You're going to jail for a long time.

"Yes, sir. I don't care about me. We just have to save the world. The president told me to get the team up there. I'm just following orders. That's what we're here for, right?"

Frustrated, Lynch leaned forward and grasped hold of Murdock's hospital gown. He yanked on it, pulling the wounded Captain up to meet his eyes and ignoring the painful cry that escaped him. "You listen to me. I know all about your little charade." His eyes attempted to bore into Murdock's own, searching for the sanity he presumed was there. "I'm going to make sure you spend the maximum time in the stockade, Captain. Neither you, nor Smith or the rest of his men are going to get out of this."

The room was cold. Too cold. To Hannibal, it was almost humorous. If Lynch thought he was going to give up Murdock -- tell him he was sane -- just because the room was a bit nippy, then he truly was deluded. To a man who had endured torturous interrogations in a POW camp, petty mind games were nothing.

It was the end of the day before Lynch finally came into the holding cell. Wasting no time, he said, "So, tell me about Captain Murdock."

"What's there to tell?"

"Well, despite his little performance outside, he seems pretty sane to me. He had a plan -- fake nametag, fake paperwork, stolen van with a box full of uniforms… hard to believe a crazy guy could come up with all of that. And he didn't seem that crazy to me when I talked to him a few hours ago."

"You what?" Hannibal's voice shook as he tried to contain his rage. "You ordered the poor man shot and you immediately interrogated him?"

"I needed to know if he is really crazy. And I have to say, I don't think he is. I think he concocted this routine after you were caught, to avoid jail time."

"Well," Hannibal replied, seething, "you can think what you want. But Captain Murdock is not right. Just like I told you outside. And you can leave me in an icebox for a week and that will still be my answer. Because it's the truth."

"So, what'd they ask you?" Face asked when Hannibal finally returned to the room. He and B.A. were sitting on their bunks, shoulders slumped, looking up at Hannibal.

"If Murdock was crazy." Hannibal walked over to B.A.'s bunk and slowly sat down. He bowed his head and ran his hands through his hair. It had been a long day. "I told them he was."

"Yeah, us too." B.A. sighed. "And after today, might actually believe it."

"So Hannibal," Face asked "what do we do now? We're still screwed and now Murdock's in trouble too."

"Well, first, we need to find out how Murdock is doing. Face, I'm sure you can scam that info over the phone by calling over to Womack. Once he's better, we'll break out, taking him with us. And then, we'll find out what this goes to." Hannibal pulled a small brass key engraved with number 347 on it out of his hip pocket.

"Where'd you get that?" Face asked, incredulously.

Hannibal smiled, his first smile all day. "You know how Murdock grabbed my arm when he pulled the gun on me? Well, he slipped this into my pocket at the same time."

The team was locked in their prison cells over the weekend. Apparently, the guards weren't taking any chances. They tried not to worry about Murdock too much, but his status, both physical and mental, weighed heavily on all of their minds. On Monday morning, they were allowed out for their work details, accompanied by additional guards.

"I never thought I'd be glad to go back to laundry detail." Face said, as he ironed yet another officer's shirt.

"Just be glad you're not on my end, picking up the prisoners' laundry." Hannibal dumped another load of dirty socks onto the floor in front of the washing machines.

Around noon, they both set out on another laundry run -- Face delivering, Hannibal picking up. As their paths crossed, Hannibal gave Face an inconspicuous nod. Face went into an office to deliver several pressed shirts, just seconds before Hannibal spilled a cart full of dirty underwear in front of the office door.

Face hung up the shirts, rushed over to the phone, and dialed the '0' for the switchboard. He could hear Hannibal's loud voice from the hallway. "Darn it! Look at this mess! Stupid wheel came off and now I have to pick all of this disgusting stuff up!" Hannibal continued to complain loudly as he slowly began picking up the underwear.

On the phone, Face heard "Operator -- how may I direct your call?"

"Womack Medical Center, please." He answered quietly. The guards were outside in the hallway, but thankfully, the mountain of dirty underwear made them keep their distance. He prayed it would be distance enough. He held his breath until another voice picked up the line.

"Womack Medical Center, Nurse Jenkins speaking."

"Yes, this is Corporal Jefferson. Colonel Lynch wanted me to call and see how Captain Murdock was doing." Face's voice sounded charming, belying his concern both for Murdock and for the ticking clock. Years of running scams had its advantages.

"Let me see…"

'Come on, come on…' Face thought, knowing that Hannibal must be close to picking up all the spilled laundry.

"Yes -- Captain Murdock is much better today." Nurse Jenkins replied. "He's stable and should be ready for discharge at the end of the week."

"Great." Face replied, breathing a sigh of relief. "Colonel Lynch will be pleased. He'll want to have a cell ready for the captain's arrival." He silently hung up the phone and stepped back into the doorway, just in time to see Hannibal place the last of the dirty underwear into the cart.

"Not sorry I missed that!" Face said with a smile to the guards.

Five days. They had five days, at most, if they were going to break out before Murdock was transferred. Thankfully, Hannibal had already thought of a plan, even though Face and B.A. were a little doubtful it would work.

"You want me to do what?" B.A. asked, disbelieving.

"Turn a vacuum into a drill." Hannibal replied simply. "Or use a motor from something else -- whatever you have access to in the repair shop. Just make it work so we can drill out of here."

"And just where are we drilling to?" Face asked. "The walls are thick. And it's going to make a ton of noise. How as we going to cover that up?"

"Easy." Hannibal said with a smile. "We'll drill into the heat ducts. They come up through the floor-- the ducts can't be more than a few feet down. And moisture over the years has softened the concrete, so drilling through it shouldn't be too much of a problem. As to how we cover up the noise -- we'll sing."

"Singing ain't gonna be enough to drown out a drill." B.A. grumbled. "'Sides. I don't sing."

"You can just drill, B.A.. Face and I will sing. So loudly, in face, that the guards have to close the doors into the brig to shut us out."

"I don't know, Hannibal. It'll have to be a really annoying song to make the guards shut the doors…" Face's words tapered off as realization dawned on his face. "Surely we're not going to sing…"

Hannibal smiled even larger and nodded. Face rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Ain't never gonna work, Hannibal." B.A. said, shaking his head.

"Sure it is." Hannibal said cheerfully. "Haven't you ever read Escape From Alcatraz?"

"No. Never even heard of it." B.A. groused.

Even Hannibal's eyes were smiling now. "I'm betting Lynch hasn't either."

B.A. continued to believe that there was no way the plan would work until he finally saw it in action. He began to drill the following night, as Face and Hannibal sang all the verses of "You Are My Sunshine" as loudly as possible. Luckily the heating duct was to the side, behind B.A.'s bed, so the bunk was a ready -- made shield from the prying eyes of the guards that occasionally had to make rounds.

After the first hour, the guards did shut the doors, instead of coming down to make them quit the interminable rounds of the song. At first, they had tried to appeal to the group to stop it, but B.A. gave them a growling "I like the song," complete with a scowl, and they left it alone. As in most things, the guards didn't like the idea of tangling with B.A.

The work took two more nights. Face and Hannibal were nearly hoarse when it was done. They had spent their time the past few days stealing sheets and towels from the laundry to make body sized lumps under the covers for when they left the cell.

They had to wait until the fourth night to escape. The day was tedious; they all tried not to think about the risk they were taking later that night. Lynch hadn't called any of them to his office, nor had they been questioned again. It made Face nervous, but Hannibal reminded him how slowly the wheels of the military moved. Any additional charges would be accompanied by mounds of paperwork. They were both sure that Lynch was working on pushing the charges through, but Hannibal knew it would be a while before he got everything going. In the meantime, Lynch had chosen to watch and wait before saying anything more. It would be his mistake because they would soon be long gone.

"Yes!" Face hissed as they crept out of the giant heating duct that led into the locker room. They were still in the prison, but they had come out exactly where he'd planned it. "I told you it was two lefts and five rights.

"I ain't even gonna ask how you know that," B.A. whispered, the last to climb out of the hole in the wall. He moved to replace the screen quickly to cover the opening without screwing it closed as Hannibal and Face scouted the room, making sure they were alone.

"Face doesn't like to give up his secrets," Hannibal reminded B.A. as he peered around a corner. They were fairly certain that no one was around. First they had listened a long while before coming into the open. Secondly, they knew the shift change didn't happen for another hour.

"How else would I maintain my reputation as a miracle worker?" Face had already cracked open two lockers. One of them contained a uniform that would just about fit Hannibal. He handed it over. The other one contained a female officer's uniform. He sighed and went to the next locker. Grinning, he yanked out a pair of maintenance coveralls.

"Bingo," he tossed the coveralls to BA, who began to change quickly. Face continued to open lockers, looking for an appropriate uniform for himself. Their banter melted away as their anxiety increased.

"Face…" Hannibal said warningly. "Time… it doesn't have to be perfectly tailored and pressed."

Face scowled, then popped open one last locker. "This'll work," he said. He slid into the clothes while BA took their pile of prison fatigues back to the vent. He threw them in, then secured the screen.

They checked each other's uniforms for anything out of place and saw that everything was in order.

Hannibal gave them the grin that his men had already gotten to know so well. They saw it when things were at their worst—it usually meant that they were taking the biggest risks, with little chance of success. That had always been what being a part of Hannibal's team was all about. The jazz. They kidded Hannibal about it, but really, they all felt it, used it, let it move them to the right place at the right time. The hidden tempo couldn't be seen or felt, but it was there like a heartbeat, keeping them in synch together. Being in tune with the jazz had saved their lives more times than they could count. Hannibal hoped it would save them this time as well.

"It's showtime," he said. "Let's go get Murdock and get out of here."

Hannibal, Face, and B.A. sneaked quietly through the base towards the medical center. It had been a while since they were stationed at Fort Bragg, but they still remembered their way around. When they were approximately 50 feet away from the entrance to Womack, they stopped.

"B.A.," Hannibal whispered. "Get us a car from the parking lot and wait for us by the back entrance. This shouldn't take too long."

B.A. nodded and disappeared into the sea of cars. Hannibal and Face crept a few more feet, then with a quick glance around, stood upright and walked into the front entrance.

"May I help you?" asked the corporal who staffed the welcome table.

"Yes. We're here to escort Captain Murdock to the stockade. Could you tell us what room he is in?"

The corporal, noticing their guard uniforms, nodded and looked at the register. "Captain Murdock is in room 128."

"Thank you." Hannibal replied. He and Face followed the signs down the hall, carefully surveying the area as they went. Thankfully, there were no MPs in the hallway. And oddly, no MPs outside of room 128.

While Face stood guard outside the door, Hannibal cautiously slipped into the room. He was surprised at what he saw.

Murdock wasn't there.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Was this a trick, Hannibal wondered? His first thought was that maybe Lynch had moved Murdock to another room and was staking this one out. However, the lack of MPs did not point to that conclusion. Murdock must have been transferred sooner than expected, but where? Hopefully he would have left some sort of clue as to where they were taking him, if he'd had the chance. He would have known that they would try their escape again. After all, he had given them a key. . .a key to something.

Hannibal went into the bathroom, checking it first. Nothing unusual here. He checked the cabinet behind the mirror, glanced in the shower, looked behind the door. Nothing. Sighing with frustration, he glared at the room, then shut off the light.

He visually searched the hospital room, and saw nothing out of place. There was the typical furniture. Hospital bed, bedside table, chairs. He started with the bed, kneeling down to scan underneath it. Then he moved to the chairs, feeling underneath each one. Nothing out of place there. He checked the bedside table. Its drawers were empty. He checked the closet as well, and found that a tiny origami tiger had been carefully placed on the top shelf. Definitely a sign from Murdock, he thought, grinning.

He examined the paper creature at first before moving it, noting it pointed towards the bedside table. He slipped the tiny animal into his pocket while wondering how long it must have taken Murdock to make something like that with one arm out of commission.

He went to the table and removed the bottom drawer, finding a note stuck to the back with some medical tape. "Bingo," he murmured to himself with a smile. He tore the note off, and replaced the drawer. He scanned it as quickly as possible before heading back to the hallway.

Face raised an eyebrow at him as he came out.

"He's gone," Hannibal said.

"What?" Face asked disbelievingly.

"He's gone. I'll explain in the car."

They had just turned and started down the hall when a doctor intercepted them. "Excuse me! What were you doing in that room?"

Face and Hannibal froze for a moment. 'Never let them see you sweat' Face reminded himself, then he began speaking. "We were looking for Captain Murdock. We're here to transfer him to the stockade."

"At night?" The doctor asked suspiciously.

"Well, Colonel Lynch is just dying to get him over there. Feels the captain made him look bad, with the attempted breakout and all. Probably wants to make him start cleaning the latrines right away."

"Humph. Sounds like Lynch, all right. Had to pull him off the captain myself a few days ago."

Hannibal and Face glanced at each other, anger burning in their eyes.

"Gave Lynch a dressing down for that, not that it did much good. Man has no common sense." The doctor continued on. "In any case, Captain Murdock isn't here anymore. I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"I guess Colonel Lynch hasn't been notified yet. You know how slow paperwork moves around here."

"Humph." The doctor didn't look totally convinced.

"Well, good night, doctor." Face said, and he and Hannibal walked down the hallway before the doctor could press them any farther.

They moved through the hallways as quickly as they dared. Reaching the back entrance, they found the generic sedan BA he had 'borrowed.' Hannibal slipped into the front bench seat while Face got into the back.

"Let's go. But take it easy…" Hannibal ordered.

Slowly, BA began to drive through the parking lot. "Where's Murdock?" He asked, eyeing both of them. "Nothin' happened to him?"

"I'm sure he's ok," Hannibal replied. "He just got transferred earlier than we thought. And not to the stockade." Hannibal smiled when he thought of how mad Lynch would be when he found out.

"He left us a note behind one of the drawers in his room. I'll read it to you." Hannibal nodded toward the upcoming guard checkpoint. "Let's wait until we get out of here though."

They were waved through the checkpoint with no problem, and they sailed down the empty nighttime streets. Each moment put them further and further from the base. It seemed like all three held their breaths for a long time, until Hannibal finally spoke. "I love it when a plan comes together." He grinned, wishing he had a cigar.

BA turned the radio on low to scan for "news" of their jailbreak. "Now, what'd the crazy fool say?" BA asked as he concentrated on the road. He was doing right at the speed limit, so as not to draw attention.

Hannibal pulled the note out of his pocket and began to read by the moonlight. On the surface, the note seemed to ramble incoherently. "'I hope the aliens haven't got ya. I have to go somewhere in California, but they won't tell me where. Maybe they'll let me have a dog when we get there. I've always wanted one. A greyhound would be nice. I'll name him Billy. And I'll put a key around his neck, so he can keep all my secrets safe.'"

"So, what do you think?" Hannibal asked. He thought he had it figured out, but he wanted to see what Face and BA thought.

"There's a Greyhound bus terminal in town." Face said.

"I know where it is," BA said. "That's got to be what the key goes to—one of those lockers in the terminal." Before being told, BA turned down several side streets, heading to the bus station. Living in a big city his whole life had given him an excellent sense of direction. If he had been somewhere once, he usually remembered how to get back.

"There's more," Hannibal nodded to the note and continued reading. "'Sorry I let you down, but if you're reading this, maybe I didn't mess up too badly.'" He looked up after flipping the note over to the other side. "He got shot, and he's apologizing to us." He shook his head, and tucked the note back into his pocket. "I never expected he'd try to rescue us." Hannibal admitted. Murdock had been a part of the team in Vietnam, but he'd usually only flown them to where they were going; he hadn't actually been on the ground with them for the missions. He had to admit that he was impressed and touched with Murdock's loyalty.

"I told you over there in 'Nam, and I tell you here. He's a crazy fool." BA said. "That's why he came to rescue us." Even though BA's remarks were disparaging, his tone told a different story. BA had a lot of respect for Murdock.

"He stuck with the unit." Face said from the back seat. "Just like you taught us." He murmured. "None of those other guys that flew us before Murdock would have done that."

Hannibal's eyes flashed as he glanced back at Face, then at BA. "We're gonna find him. We owe him that much, and more." The exhilaration at the escape began to fade as more realistic problems began to creep in. They had no money or change of clothes. Their military uniforms would stand out like neon once they got out of town. They'd need to eat soon, not to mention providing for other necessities. Well, things had been worse, he reminded himself. Right now, they had to see about the locker. He fingered the brass key that Murdock had given him, then glanced up in time to see that BA was pulling the car into the parking lot at the bus terminal.

Hannibal left BA and Face in the car and walked inside. A few passengers were sitting in the lobby, either flipping through magazines or sleeping. Only the lone ticket lady looked up at him. He nodded at her, then followed the signs to the lockers. He located locker #347 and opened it, finding a very large black duffel bag inside. He quickly removed it, slung it over his shoulder, and was out the door and back in the car mere minutes after they arrived.

"Did anyone see you?" Face asked.

"Just the ticket lady. Let's see what Murdock left us, shall we?" Hannibal unzipped the bag, feeling a bit like a child on Christmas morning.

"Ahhh -- all the essentials for fugitives on the run. We have some money -- here Face -- see how much we have." He handed a stack of cash to Face in the back seat.

Face thumbed the cash, listened, and smiled. "Sounds like about $2,000."

"And some extra clothes." Hannibal remarked, pulling out shirts, pants, vests, and hats in various sizes.

"You've got to be kidding me." Face groaned upon seeing the clothes. "Where is his sense of style?"

"I think you're looking at it." Hannibal replied. "Besides, Face, beggars can't be choosers. Maybe you'll like this better." He handed Face several fake IDs.

Face held the IDs under the glow of the parking lot lights and smiled. "That's more like it. He did a good job on these -- looks like he was paying attention all those times I made them."

"Anything else in there?" BA asked.

"Sure is. How about this, BA?" Hannibal pulled out 2 colt .45s and a .357 Magnum, along with 3 boxes of ammunition.

"Maybe he's not such a fool after all." BA replied, grabbing one the .45s and slipping it under the seat. "So what do we do now?"

"Well, BA, you're going to go into the station and buy three tickets on the first bus out." Hannibal replied.

"Me? Why me? Face's the one who's good with scams. Could probably even get us the tickets for free."

"True. But we need to throw Lynch off our trail. The bus station will be the first place he checks. And let's face it, you're the most memorable one of us -- the ticket lady will never forget you were here. Besides, we need to pay for the tickets. If Face scammed them, the ticket lady would never admit it. We need her to tell Lynch were we went. Well, supposedly went."

BA nodded, took some money from Face and went into the terminal. He came back with three tickets to Atlanta. He handed them to Hannibal when he slipped into the driver's seat. "Here. The bus leaves in half an hour."

"Perfect. Hopefully the bus will be gone before they find out we're missing."

"So, where to?" B.A. asked as he started up the car.

"We need to put as many miles between us and the base as possible," Hannibal began. "I have a friend in DC that would probably put us up for a few days -- Matthew Murphy, a retired colonel. We served together in Korea."

"And you can trust him?" Face asked, obviously worried. A colonel? Even if he was retired, he might feel it was his patriotic duty to turn them in. Not to mention there was sure to be a generous reward for them.

"Yeah, Hannibal. . .I don't know if that's such a good idea . . ." BA began with hesitation in his voice, thinking of the dangers as well.

Hannibal cut him off. "Relax, Sergeant. I know we can trust him, in the same way I know I can trust the two of you."

BA and Face really couldn't argue with him when he put it that way.

They drove for a while, each man lost in his own thoughts.

BA knew that as soon as their jailbreak was discovered, they'd have to ditch the car and get another one. He was surprised how easy stealing this one had been. A million thoughts raced through his mind as he concentrated on the dark road in front of them. He wondered what his mama would say about her son hot-wiring a car that didn't belong to him. He wondered if they would get caught, and how Murdock was doing. The crazy fool had taken a bullet for them. Had he really lost his mind out there? BA wasn't sure anymore. This whole thing could make a guy go crazy, he thought as a million worries buzzed through his mind like bees around a hive.

Face stared out the window, even after there was nothing to see but darkness. The decision to break out of prison had been a relatively easy one for him. And he didn't regret it. He had never been fond of military rules. And, other than the team, nobody in it seemed to appreciate his talents. With a conviction a forgone conclusion, there was nothing the military could offer him anymore but misery. At least on the run, he would have a chance at a life. Maybe not the one he had planned, but a life nonetheless. He just hoped Murdock's life had not been ruined in the process. Once they were settled, the first thing he would do is find out where he was.

Hannibal, too, was lost in his thoughts as the miles rolled by. There was no getting around it now. They were fugitives and people were going to be looking for them. It would take all their talents to keep from getting caught, especially here at the first. They had to keep doing the unexpected -- the opposite of what Lynch would look for them to do. It looked as if it were working so far, yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd failed his men. He couldn't voice it because it would erode their confidence in him, but he felt as if this were his fault somehow.

He looked down at his hands, hands that had been splattered with the warmth of Murdock's blood. He remembered the expression on Murdock's face. Face and BA were looking to him for the answers. Following his lead. He thought of the many times they had depended upon each other -- put their lives in each other's hands. He knew that whatever happened, they would put all their talents, all their skills into whatever direction he led them. These men under his command had become more than just soldiers. No matter how hard he tried to remain remote, he cared. Too much. He couldn't ignore the nagging voice warning him that this was going to lead to trouble.

The drive was a long one, and the men were silent, the only sounds coming from the radio and the hum of tires on the pavement. They all listened for any hint of their jailbreak, but there was no mention of it. BA found himself scanning the dial every half hour or so to see if anything had come up. The longer they went without any news, the better, Hannibal reminded them.

When they finally made it into DC it was almost sunrise: pink and yellow streaks of fire began to paint the sky. They all found themselves watching the gradual lightening with a new appreciation. A new day was beginning.

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It was still early morning when they found themselves at Murphy's house, knocking on the front door. Hannibal hoped he was home. He looked over at the car and was pleased to see it was hidden from the street, due thanks to the trees that lined the long driveway.

Hannibal was just about to knock again when the door opened. In the doorway stood an older man, slightly shorter than Hannibal with steel grey hair and green eyes. He was wearing a T-shirt that read "Army" and a pair of well-worn running shorts. He stared at  
the three of them for a moment, without recognition, but then he smiled.

"Hannibal Smith?" He said. "Damn. How long has it been?" He reached out to shake his friend's hand, then he moved to the side to invite them in.

"Almost twenty years," Hannibal responded with a grin. The three of them stepped inside and closed the door.

"Well, what brings you this way? Last I heard you were over in Vietnam." He eyed the three of them, beginning to see the tension in their eyes.

"It's a long story, Matt," Hannibal began. "But first, let me introduce you to my team. This is my Lieutenant Templeton Peck and my Sergeant, BA Baracus."

"Well, nice to meet you." They all shook hands, and Matt motioned them towards the kitchen. "Can I offer you some coffee? I just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great," Hannibal replied, and Face nodded, following Matt into the kitchen. The three men sat down at the small kitchen table while Matt got down 3 coffee mugs from the cabinet. BA eyed the fridge. "Don't drink coffee. Got any milk?" He asked.

"Milk, huh? I think I may have some." Matt finished pouring two mugs of coffee, then poured BA's milk. He brought the mugs over to the table and sat down.

"Alright." Matt sat back in his chair and took a look at each of them. His experience commanding troops had not left him, despite his retirement. BA and Face could feel it in his expression. "Something's up." He looked at Hannibal to speak for the group. "Mind telling me why you're knocking on my door at this time of the morning after all these years?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Matt. We're in trouble. Under orders, we robbed a bank in Nam and now the army is going to court-martial us for it. So we broke out of the stockade at Fort Bragg and we're on the run. We need a place to lay low for a few days. I was hoping you'd let us stay here." Hannibal prided himself in his self-sufficiency and hated having to ask for shelter for his men. But under the circumstances, he had little choice. Motels were too risky until they had better disguises.

Matt looked at the three of them. The two soldiers with Hannibal were young, but looked old beyond their years. In fact, they reminded him of Hannibal in Korea, when he was their age. And if they were Hannibal's men, they were most certainly competent  
soldiers, and good men. He wouldn't have it any other way.

"OK, you can stay here for a little while." Matt said. He wanted to ask other questions, but he knew this wasn't the time. He would hear the whole story later.

"We need to get rid of the car." BA reminded Hannibal. The longer they sat here with that hot car outside, the more danger they were putting themselves and Matt in.

"There's an apartment building with a large parking garage about 15 minutes from here." Matt said. "You could follow me in my car and leave it there."

"Works for me." BA said, getting up from the table. "I'll go change clothes."

Moments later, BA emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of navy pants, a baseball hat, and a too-small t-shirt that read "mama's boy." Hannibal and Face tried to suppress their grins, but failed miserably.

"Hey- I think Murdock does have a sense of style after all," Face quipped. "He's sure got you pegged, BA."

"Wait till you see what he had picked out for you, Face." Hannibal replied, with a grin of his own.

"Ok, let's go" Matt said. "Hannibal- there are plenty of eggs in the fridge. Feel free to whip up breakfast while we're gone."

The trip to the garage to dump the car was uneventful, and they were back at the house in 30 minutes. They opened the door to the smells of hot bacon sizzling and more coffee brewing.

"How did it go?" Hannibal questioned.

"Fine. Not many people out this early on a Saturday morning." BA replied.

They sat down to eat without much talking. BA, Hannibal and Face were extremely hungry and focused on breakfast. They had only eaten a meager dinner the night before, and the break out made it feel like a million years since then. Matt turned on the TV to keep an eye on the news while they ate breakfast. It wasn't very long before national news and weather gave way to a breaking news report.

The men all froze as they watched the team's pictures materialize on the set. The food BA and Face had eaten felt like it had turned into a stone in their stomachs at seeing their names and descriptions flashed on the news. A woman, whose voice they'd never forget, began to read. ". . .First Lieutenant, Templeton Peck, Sergeant Bosco BA Baracus, and their commanding officer, Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith pulled off a daring escape from the Ft. Bragg stockade last night. A manhunt has begun from North Carolina to Georgia for the three fugitives, who should be considered armed and dangerous."

"Well, that plan worked beautifully." Hannibal said, smiling at BA and Face. It took all he had left in him to seem completely unconcerned. "It will take them a while to realize Atlanta is in the wrong direction--and by that time we'll be gone."

"I hope it works out like you think, Hannibal." BA said, getting up from the table and beginning to clean up the dishes. He wondered if his mother had seen the news reports. She probably had. He would have to find some way to get in touch with her soon.

"Here- let me get those. You must be tired." Matt said, taking the dishes from BA. "And I have two spare bedrooms as well. It looks like you could all use some rest."

"Thanks." BA said, letting Matt set the dishes to the side and show him back to a room furnished with two twin beds. He was too tired to try and argue.

Face turned to look at Hannibal before he followed BA. Hannibal looked tired and old beyond his years. "It was a good plan." He said, eyeing Hannibal and gauging the expression in his eyes.

His commander ran a hand over his face, and through his hair and suddenly the look was gone. Same old Hannibal. Same sure grin, same expression of confidence. "Thanks, kid," he replied. "Go get some sleep, and that's an order."

Face started to ask Hannibal if he was okay, but something in his commander's demeanor made him decide to drop it. He went back into the guest room and found that BA was already asleep, or appeared to be. As the young lieutenant kicked off his  
shoes and lay back on the bed, he thought about the man who had been his commander for the past several years. He thought he knew Hannibal well, but times like this reminded him of just how much distance remained between a leader and the men under his command. Sometimes he felt like he knew every nuance of the man, only to find  
him turn into an enigma in the space of mere seconds.

But for a moment, he felt like he had seen past the mask of assurance that Hannibal kept carefully in place at all times. There was worry there and something else that Face couldn't put a finger on. Something about the way he'd called him 'kid.' Hannibal had  
called him that before, but . . .this time it was different. Less like a nickname, more like… family. Or at least what he thought family would be like. He found himself trying to follow the thread of this new discovery when he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

"I'd give you an order to get some sleep, Hannibal, but I don't think you'd follow it." Matt came from the back, where he'd been straightening up the other guest room for Hannibal. He left the dishes for a moment, poured both of them another cup of coffee and  
sat down at the kitchen table across from the man he'd commanded so long ago.

The younger man looked up, finally able to let the facade of confidence drop. He hadn't realized that keeping up appearances was taking such a toll on him. "I don't think I could sleep, not just yet, Matt," he replied. He shook his head as he looked down at the  
coffee in his cup. It was as mysteriously dark as the team's future.

Matt sat back, thinking of how best to start this conversation. It was obvious his friend needed to talk to someone, but he wasn't sure what to say or where to begin. "You've changed a lot from that young kid that joined my unit," he said, propping his feet up in the chair next to him. "You look a hell of a lot older," he grinned.

"Feel it too." Hannibal replied. He was only forty-four, but he felt as if he were ancient. He glanced up at Matt, trying to think of a way to explain all that he'd been through since they had last seen each other. Mercifully, he found he didn't need to. Like  
always, Matt would just understand, no matter what he said or didn't say. That was the kind of commander that Hannibal had always wanted to be, the kind of leader that his men would put their trust in.

"Alright. So talk, then, if you can't sleep. Tell me what's happened." Matt said.

As Hannibal told the story of the Hanoi bank job, the team's imprisonment and the death of Colonel Morrison, Matt realized just how bad his position had been. The story of both  
breakout attempts was amazing. Matt found himself wishing he could have seen them firsthand. Once he finished relating the events of the past few days, Hannibal looked at Matt as if to measure his reaction to the whole thing.

"I can't judge you," Matt began, "and it's not my place to do that anyway." The older man was suddenly thankful that he had not had to make such a decision.

"I have a feeling I've made a mistake." Hannibal said. He closed his eyes, and tried to see it all clearly in his mind, the way he did when devising a strategy for getting into or out of a situation. . Usually, everything fell into place, like chess pieces on a game board. What he'd come to think of as seeing "the plan" was like streaks of light in his mind that connected all the possibilities and mapped out the best path to take. He'd been told he had a gift for strategy, ever since he was a kid, but it seemed like the gift had left him, for the time being. The jazz just wasn't there.

"What's going to happen if we get caught?" Hannibal spoke softly. "I never wanted this for them. They're young. They have their whole lives ahead of them." His eyes met Matt's own. "I can't help thinking there was another way out of this. Damned if I can see it, though."

"Hannibal, if you can't see a possibility then it just isn't there." Matt took a thoughtful sip from his coffee. "Half the guys in HQ in Korea used your ideas during Incheon because you were so good at seeing possibilities."

It was well known in Korea that Matt had a tactical genius in his unit, and half the time, he'd had to loan Hannibal out so that the guys in HQ could pick his brain. In fact, that was how Hannibal had picked up his nickname. The historical Hannibal was the father of strategy and tactics, and once his men had overheard an officer from HQ jokingly call John Hannibal', they all began calling him that. The name had stuck.

"If you didn't see another way out, there just wasn't one." Matt looked at him seriously. "What's got you second guessing yourself like this?"

Hannibal shook his head, then stood up and walked to the kitchen window. The fantastic streaks of light they'd seen at sunrise had long since faded, and now the day was overcast and grey. "I don't know," he murmured. "I guess I've just gotten too close. They're just  
kids, Matt. . ." he trailed off, then turned to face his friend again, "and I can't help worrying about them. Feeling responsible."

"Yeah?" Matt asked, a slight smile touching his features. He'd fought this battle before and lost, just as Hannibal had. "So who hasn't felt responsible for their men? You aren't human if you don't care about em. Screw all that stuff they tell you in training. Most of those guys never went into the field anyway." Matt pointed a finger at Hannibal. "You'll cease to be an effective leader the minute you begin to hesitate from self-doubt. So just don't do it," he warned. "Those men back there are depending on you to lead them. Right or wrong, you'll do what you think is best. That's the only thing you can do."

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It was three that afternoon before B.A. and Face came out of the back bedroom. The two of them didn't look as if they had entirely woken up yet, but neither did they look rested. "I must have dreamed Lynch was after us the whole time." Face muttered as he plopped down on the couch in the living room next to Hannibal. B.A. simply growled his agreement as he took a large armchair.

Hannibal looked both of them over. "Aww, come on, guys. Don't let Lynch worry you." He gestured to the TV. "He's searching Atlanta for us. That ought to keep him busy 'till next week sometime." He grinned, then went on. "In the meantime, I've been working on the plan." He leaned forward. "We need to check on our 'missing man.'" He looked to Face. "That's your arena, Lieutenant."

Face nodded. "I've been thinking about that, and I've got an idea. Can I use the phone in the back?" He asked Matt, who nodded.

Face got a notepad and pencil, then headed into the bedroom in the rear of the house. As he did every time he ran a con, he closed his eyes and worked on convincing himself that he really was the persona he was taking on. It was easy enough to do; but sometimes the phone cons were harder than the face to face ones.

He opened his eyes and glanced up, keeping his mind on the business at hand. He dialed information and obtained several numbers. The first was for the San Francisco VA. He had to be transferred to several different nurses before he found that Murdock wasn't there. He tried the second VA, in Fresno, with no success. The third time. . .he hoped this one would be the charm as he waited through the interminable telephone rings.

"Westwood VA, how may I direct your call?" The nurse on the other end sounded pretty old, so Face modified his approach, attempting to sound polite and younger than he was, like this woman's favorite grandchild. With the last two calls, he'd put some velvet into his voice for the younger nurses that had answered the phone.

"Yes, ma'am. My name is Trevor Peterson. Lieutenant Trevor Peterson? I'm doing a follow up on a patient we had here at Womack Medical Center last week." He rattled some of the notepaper near the phone, to sound as if he were going through files. "A Captain H. M. Murdock? I'm just having a terrible time locating him. One set of paperwork says he was transferred to your facility and then another set says he went to Fresno. If I can't get this straight, I'm going to be in a lot of hot water. I sure would appreciate it, ma'am, if you could verify that he's there…" Face bit his lip, waiting for her answer.

"Hold on, Lieutenant. I'll check for you." The nurse was gone a moment, then returned. She had a brisk manner. "Yes. He's here. Just arrived, in fact. Let me transfer you to the psychiatric ward."

"Thank you, Ma'am." Face replied. "You've been really helpful." The woman didn't reply, but Face barely had time to think about it before the next voice came on the phone.

"Psychiatric." This was a younger one, he could already tell. Another subtle shifting of personalities began.

"Hi. My name's—"

"Get an orderly in there!" The voice on the phone was accompanied by a loud crashing sound, and what sounded like a battle cry in the background. "I'm very sorry." She came back on the line. "This is Nurse Basden—what can I do for you?" The woman sounded harried and overwhelmed.

"Hi. I'm Lieutenant Trevor Peterson." Face began. "I'm doing a follow up on a patient we had here at Womack Medical Center last week. He just got transferred to your facility."

"Okay." She began, still sounding distracted. There was the sound of a yell in the background on the other end of the phone. "Can you hold one moment? I promise I'll be right back -- " Without waiting for an answer, the phone was put down. He listened intently, trying to imagine what must be going on where she was.

There were more crashing sounds, clearly audible. Wherever the commotion was occurring, it was obviously close to the phone, which was probably at a nurse's station. Then Face heard a familiar voice.

"….not going in there…ammonia on the floor…I told them about…" He could only hear snatches of Murdock's voice. "It hurts . . . feet…" There were the softer sounds of Nurse Basden talking to Murdock, then his ranting was gone.

The phone was retrieved. "I'm sorry. I just had to get our new patient in his room." She continued on. "Lieutenant . . .what can I do for you again?"

Face struggled a moment to find his voice. Hearing Murdock in the background had been unexpected. "Yes. Um. . . as I said, I was doing a follow up on a patient we had here at Womack. A Captain Murdock?"

"Ohhhhh. Yes." He heard a heavy sigh in her voice. "He just arrived a little while ago. In fact, I just got him into his room."

"That was Captain Murdock making all that noise?" Face asked with what he hoped was the right degree of disbelief. He wondered exactly how much information he could get out of her.

"Oh yes. He's having some trouble settling in. They sometimes do." She replied. "He'll be alright though. He seems very disoriented, but I'm going to keep an eye on him and make sure he does okay. Did you know him personally, or are you just doing follow - ups?"

"Both." Face replied.

"Okay." There was a little hmmmm noise as she glanced through paperwork. Face could hear it rustling over the phone. "His gunshot wound is healing up nicely—no sign of infection. He's been put under the care of Dr. Richter. There'll be some psych tests and evaluations in the next day or two. Other than that, there's not much more I can tell you."

"I really appreciate this." Face said. "Nurse, may I call you back and check on his progress? The guys on base would really like to know how he's doing, and um. . .I can't begin tell you how I would appreciate it." He laid on the charm as thickly as possible, putting emphasis in all the right places. If there was one thing he was good at, this was it.

"I'm not really supposed to give out patient information." She began, but because she sounded reluctant to refuse his request, he knew he had her.

"I'm not asking for any personal details." Face clarified. "I'd just be checking to make sure he's doing okay." He lowered his voice, putting just the right note of sadness into it. Giving a mark a sob story was one of the cardinal rules of a con. "You know, he doesn't have a lot of family to speak of. We're kind of like his only family. His mother died when he was very young."

She sighed, giving in. "Oh, I guess so. . . You know if Dr. Richter okays it, he'll be able to take phone calls in a few days—so you can talk to him yourself." She replied, and he heard a smile in her voice as she lowered it to speak into the phone. "I'll try to help you out as much as I can. Just ask for Laurie. He's one of my patients, so I'd be able to give you the best information." The note he heard in her voice was all for him. "You're all the way over there at Bragg, huh? You don't ever get over to the West Coast, do you?"

She asked.

"You might be surprised, Laurie. I might just show up on your doorstep one day," he replied, then remembered another rule: always leave them wanting more. "Well, I hate to go, but I've got a lot of work to catch up on here." He said reluctantly. "Can you give the Captain a message from me?"

"Sure." She replied. There was a pause, then she went on. "I've got a pencil."

"Tell him that Trevor Peterson says 'the secret's safe.' It's a private joke that he used to have with a few guys on base. Maybe it'll cheer him up." Face hoped that the initials of his alias, and the message would let Murdock know who had sent it.

"Will do." She replied. "I hope to talk to you again, Lieutenant."

"Trevor, please." He said, putting a little sparkle into his voice. With this woman, it wasn't hard at all. "And I'm sure we'll talk again very soon. Bye."

"Bye." The connection was lost, and Face hung up the phone. Mission accomplished.

Hannibal looked up, surprised at how quickly Face came back out of the bedroom. "So, how'd it go, kid?"

Face sat down with his notepad, then revealed what he'd found out. "Murdock's in the Westwood VA in Los Angeles. I've got a contact there, so we can check up on him. He's healing up okay, she says. I could actually hear him in the background."

"So what did you hear?" B.A. asked.

"He sounded . . ." Face looked at both of them and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, he sounded crazy. Yelling about stuff. I couldn't really make sense of it."

"I knew the fool really went crazy." B.A. muttered to himself.

"Now hold it, B.A.. We don't know anything for sure." Hannibal paused for a moment, thinking, then continued. "But I'd feel better if we checked him out ourselves."

"Agreed." Face replied as B.A. nodded.

Hannibal continued, "Looks like we're in for a long road trip. We're going to need some sort of transportation."

"Sounds like my cue." Face said, starting to stand.

"No!" B.A. replied, so forcefully that Face sat back down, surprised. "We're not stealing a car!"

"B.A., it's not stealing, it's borrowing." Face reasoned. "Besides, you didn't seem to mind back on the base."

"That was different. We didn't have a choice -- we needed that car to get away. And we gave it back. You plan on giving this car back?"

"Well…" Face hedged.

"Then it's stealing! And we ain't gonna do it. We'll buy one or I'll get a junk car and fix it up. But we're not stealing one. And that's final. I may be a fugitive, but I ain't no thief."

Face jumped up from his chair, angry. "Now just wait a minute! Are you calling me a thief?"

BA rose up out of his chair as well. "Yes! I am! You're a thief! You take things and don't give 'em back. Saw you do it all the time in 'Nam, and now you're doin' it here too. That may be fine with you, but it 'aint with me."

"Now wait just one second! I never stole from anyone! I persuaded them. And there's a world of difference! I never took anything from anyone who didn't want to give it to me. And before you get on your high horse, you should remember that you benefited from my skills many times!"

"High horse! Just 'cause my mama taught me some values, now I'm on a high horse?"

"Alright, guys," Hannibal interrupted, "knock it off. You can sort it out later. But since BA is going to be driving, let's do this one his way. I'll go ask Matt is there's an auto salvage yard around where we can find a car."

"That's it!" Hannibal said smiling, pointing to a 1967 GMC Handi-van.

"What?" B.A. exclaimed. "That piece of junk?" He looked disbelieving at the van -- dented door, rusted fenders, broken windshield, torn upholstery… the list went on and on. And that was just what he could see from the outside. Who knows what he would find under the hood?

"Come on, B.A. It's perfect! There are hardly any windows so we don't have to worry about people seeing inside. There's plenty of room for our gear, and, in a pinch, we can sleep in it. Like I said, it's perfect!"

"I dunno know, Hannibal…" B.A. replied, still shaking his head.

Hannibal clasped his arm around B.A.'s shoulder. "Look at it as a challenge. If you can fix this up, then you can fix anything."

"I guess…" B.A. walked over and popped the hood of the van. It wasn't pretty -- the van needed almost everything: hoses, plugs, a battery, and a more powerful engine. It would take a few days, but he could get it done.

"Oh no… " Face had wandered over to the van from where he had been looking at sports cars. "Not this one!"

B.A. popped out from under the van's hood and glared at Face.

"Aww, B.A.. That van. . . .It looks like. . ." Face eyed the van with skepticism, then looked into B.A.'s eyes.

"What? It looks like a van. Say anything else, sucka and I'll shove a wrench down your throat. Nobody makes fun of my ride."

Undeterred, Face turned to Hannibal. "Hannibal! It's a wreck! BA can't fix that thing up!"

"Face, you're barking up the wrong tree here. It was my idea in the first place. And we're taking it."

B.A. mulled over the events of the past days as he fixed up the van. He did feel bad for calling Face a thief, and had been ready to apologize. That was, until Face insulted his mechanical skills and the van. And why should he be the one to apologize anyway? Face was just as much in the wrong as he was. Just like a snooty officer, to expect everyone else to do the hard work.

After three long days, B.A. was finished. He had changed out almost everything under the hood, souped-up the engine, replaced the seats, and had even managed to paint the van black.

Even Face had to admit the van looked pretty good. As a peace offering, he handed B.A. a white envelope.

"What's this?" B.A. growled.

"Open it and see."

B.A. tore open the envelope to find a forged title and registration for the vehicle. He looked up questioningly to Face.

"You can't exactly go down to the DMV and register the car. So I made those for you."

B.A. continued to stare blankly, stunned by Face's thoughtfulness and ashamed of how he had misjudged him.

Face looked down at the ground and shifted his weight back and forth on his feet a few times. He then cleared his throat and looked up at B.A.. "So, are we good now?"

B.A. looked at Face for a few moments more, then offered his hand. "Yeah, we're good. Thanks. And, uh, sorry 'bout the thief thing. I know you ain't one."

"You sure you don't want to stay the night and start out early in the morning?"

"No, Matt, but thank you anyway. We've stayed in one place long enough." And put you at risk too, Hannibal thought. It was best to leave now.

Matt lowered his voice. "Remember what I said—do what you think is best. That's all you can do." Clearing his throat, Matt added. "You have always been one of my best men." He didn't say more, but reached out, briefly placing his hand on Hannibal's shoulder.

"All done." Face said, emerging from the van. While B.A. was showering, he had been packing the van with the supplies he had gathered for the trip. He had all of the usual items -- food, water, warm clothing, and sleeping bags. He had also managed to obtain a police scanner, extra license plates, and several wigs and fake beards to use for disguises. "As soon as B.A. is ready, we can head out."

As if on cue, B.A. emerged from the house, carrying a small bag containing his belongings. He placed the bag in the back of the van, then turned to face the rest of the men. "I'm ready -- let's go."

Handshakes were exchanged all around, along with sincere "thank yous" and "good lucks". B.A. climbed into the driver's seat and started the van. Hannibal slid into the passenger seat, while Face slipped in the back and closed the door. They waved, then B.A. backed the van out of the driveway and drove off into the night.

To be continued…


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

They drove for a while, B.A. behind the wheel, Hannibal navigating while puffing on a cigar. B.A. hated cigars. Even more, he hated to think of his "new" van, which he had worked so hard on, being polluted with the foul things.

"Do you have to smoke those things in my van?"

"Where else do you want me to smoke them?"

"Outside. I could pull over."

Hannibal took the cigar out of his mouth and waved it philosophically. "Now, B.A.. If we pull over every hour, we're never going to make it to Chicago."

"Chicago?" B.A. and Face said in unison, each turning to look at Hannibal.

Hannibal smiled and nodded.

"Hannibal, I thought we were going to California, to check on Murdock." Face said.

"We are. We're just going to detour through Chicago to get there. Lynch is looking for us down south, so it only makes sense we travel north. Besides, I thought it would be nice to check in on Mrs. Baracus."

"Really? I can see my mama?" B.A. felt a lump rise in his throat, but hoped the guys did not notice. He turned back to focus on the road.

"Sure. We'll just have to be careful. Lynch probably has her place staked out. But we can work around that. We'll just need to get creative."

Hannibal placed the cigar back in his mouth, then said, smiling. "And I have a plan."

They drove on through the night, driving and sleeping in shifts. After stopping briefly for breakfast, they continued on their way, arriving in Chicago late in the morning. As B.A. wound through the traffic like the best of taxi drivers, Hannibal got him to talk about his old neighborhood for a while, picking up the details to help him flesh out his plan.

"So what should we do?" B.A. asked. "We go any further, we'll be there."

Hannibal nodded, motioning to Face. "Get me those disguises out of the back. We're gonna need a base of operations, and that means getting a motel room. B.A., think you can find us a motel where no one's going to ask any questions? I'll go in and rent the room. From there we can work on the rest of the plan."

B.A. nodded, making a turn to head to the Eastside.

"Here." Face handed Hannibal the bag of disguises. It was tough going with only the vanity and side mirrors to help out, but in a few minutes, Hannibal appeared to be about ten years younger. With the long haired wig, the facial hair he already had after a few days of beard growth and the addition of a fringed beaded vest from Murdock's bag of fashion faux pas, he looked very hip. The last thing Lynch's men would be looking for would be a hippie, Hannibal hoped.

B.A. looked over, and then shifted his eyes immediately back to the road. He looked like he was about to explode as he held in his reaction. Then, all of a sudden, he began to snicker. The sound of his laughter made both Hannibal and Face stop their adjustments to the disguise and stare at B.A.. Their grim friend seldom laughed.

"You see somethin' funny, man?" Hannibal said, completely in character.

That caused B.A. to laugh louder, which made Face begin to snicker as well. "I just never expected to see you wearin' something like THAT, Hannibal." B.A. replied. "But it's good. You won't stick out where I'm takin' us."

They waited in the van while Hannibal went in to pay for the room. The motel was old. Face could tell it had been built in the fifties, and it appeared that was the last time it had been painted. The parking lot was old and the asphalt was broken and cracked in places. The swimming pool was empty, but of course, it was getting close to winter. It was still a sad sight somehow.

They sat there, staring up into the slate grey sky. "It looks like snow." B.A. murmured. "Might need to get some chains if it gets bad."

"Yeah." Face replied. He had no idea what a snow sky looked like, but he agreed anyway. It seemed strange to be worrying about snow when just a few weeks ago they had been focused on mosquitoes and rain.

Just then, Hannibal came back out, and slid into the van's passenger seat. "That was a lot easier than I thought it would be." Hannibal said. "Maybe I should have been an actor. I always wanted to do that, when I was a kid." He gave them a big grin. It was obvious he'd gotten a kick out of this.

"Do you think the clerk recognized you?" Face asked.

"Nah." Hannibal lit a cigar and then pointed in the direction of their room. "He was so old, he had trouble seeing if I gave him enough money when I paid him. Room 102, B.A. Around back."

Hannibal had strategically chosen the room, they both realized. Not because anyone would be looking for them in their new van, but there was less chance of someone seeing all three of them getting into the van at the same time. They grabbed only the essential gear they needed and headed into the room.

B.A. locked the door behind them, blocking out the biting wind. Face flopped down on one of the beds and heaved a sigh. The creaky, thin mattress beat the back of the van any day. Since he wasn't sure when he'd get the chance to stretch out like this again, he was certainly going to take advantage of it.

Hannibal sat in the chair nearest the window, propping his feet on the table. B.A. sat in the other chair and leaned forward across the table eagerly.

"Alright. Now that everyone's comfortable, let's think this thing through." Hannibal felt all the strings of the plan tying together in his mind, but wanted to make sure he hadn't missed a thing. Sometimes, out in the field, Face and B.A. often surprised him with an unconventional way of seeing things. It was just another reason they made such a great team.

The mission they were working on this time was different. The objective was more important than blowing up a bridge, somehow. He realized it as he glanced up into B.A.'s eyes. "We have to get you to see your mother, but without Lynch's men catching on. So the meeting can't take place at her apartment—we have to find somewhere else. Any ideas?"

B.A. nodded immediately. "There was this place we used to go when I was a kid. It's a diner -- and if I told her to meet me at the diner, she'd know where to go."

"That's good. The message has to be short, and we can't use the phone. How are we going to get it to her?" He glanced at Face, who was lying back on the bed, eyes closed.

"Flower delivery." Face said. He turned and opened his eyes for just a moment. "We can write the message on the card. That way we don't even have to go near her apartment."

"Would anyone recognize you at the diner?" Hannibal asked, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar.

"I don't think so. I was about ten or twelve last time I was there." B.A. replied.

"In one of those heavy coats and a knit cap, his own mama might not recognize him." Face called out, without opening his eyes. He stretched again, and let out a sigh.

"Oh, she's gonna know it's me." B.A. said. "Trust me, Face."

"OK. Let's set the meeting for tomorrow night. We'll need to drive by the diner this afternoon to check the place out so that Face and I know where to set up surveillance. If she's followed, we're going to have problems." Hannibal had no idea if B.A.'s mom would even worry about being followed by Lynch's men.

"She won't lead them to us." B.A. said. "She's too smart for that."

"I hope so, B.A. I don't want to go back to powdered eggs and laundry soap." Face complained.

"Don't worry, kid. After some of the things we've pulled off in the past, this will be a piece of cake."

With the toe of his boot, Hannibal nudged aside the curtain so he could have a clear view of outside their room. A smile crossed his face as he noticed that tiny white snowflakes had begun to swirl down from the sky. It was a sign that the jazz was with them; if it kept snowing, the snow would at least make it harder for anyone trying to tail Mrs. Baracus. "Check it out, guys." He said, pointing outside the window.

"I knew it looked like snow." BA said.

"Well, snow or no snow, it's time to take care of the flowers. So hop to it, Lieutenant."

The bell on the door jingled as Face walked into the flower shop.

The young clerk couldn't help but smile when she saw him. Even with the fake wig, he knew he was still handsome.

"May I help you?"

"Yes. I would like to send flowers to my aunt. Well, she's not really my aunt, but I've always thought of her like that. She took care of me after school when I was just a little boy so I wouldn't have to stay by myself."

"Awh, how sweet! What kind of flowers would you like to send?"

"Well, I'd like to send a big bouquet – something that will cheer her up. It's her wedding anniversary, but her husband died recently. It's going to be a hard day for her."

"That's so sad – but so nice of you to send her flowers!"

Face could tell the clerk was eating his story up. "Well," he sighed, "it's the least I can do, after all she's done for me."

"We have plenty of large bouquets – this one is particularly pretty." The clerk showed him a large arrangement of pink, white, and yellow flowers. "I think it would cheer her right up."

"They're perfect! I knew you would know exactly what to pick … Janet." Face finished, having read her name off her apron. He leaned onto the counter for good measure.

Janet beamed at him.

"And you are…"

"Steve" Face said.

"Steve." The clerk repeated, eyes sparkling.

"How much do I owe you for the flowers?"

"They are $35."

Face's countenance fell. "That's a bit out of my budget, Janet. But they are such beautiful flowers…" He looked at her with a sad expression as his words tapered off.

Janet leaned forward on the counter, and lowered her voice. "Well, since it's for a good cause, and the owner's not here today… I can give them to you for cost. "

Face smiled. "That's wonderful! Thank you, Janet. I won't forget this… or you." He picked up her hand and kissed it for good measure.

Janet smiled. "Me either."

Hannibal looked up from the newspaper he was reading when Face walked into the motel room.

"Get the flowers?"

"Being delivered as we speak."

"Good work. Let's grab some lunch." Hannibal folded the newspaper. "The snow is supposed to pick up tomorrow. It should be perfect." He grinned at both Face and B.A., then got up to get his coat.

"What kind of flowers did you get for her?" B.A. asked as he shrugged into his own heavy, hooded coat.

"Pink and white tea roses with some yellow daisies." Face said. "It was the best bouquet in the store, B.A."

B.A. smiled at him as they started out the door. "She'll like them. She always liked roses. Thanks, Face."

"Pull over here, B.A."

B.A. pulled over to the curb and parked the van.

"I'll grab some hot dogs from that street vendor and be back in a jiffy." Hannibal hopped out of the van and walked toward the vendor. It was early afternoon, so the lunchtime crowd had dwindled. But it was still Chicago, and, therefore, the streets were still busy.

"I'll take 12 dogs with mustard and relish, and 3 cokes." Hannibal told the vendor.

"That'll be $8.50." The vendor said, while fixing the order.

Hannibal began fishing the money out of his pocket when he heard shouting coming from across the street.

"How many babies did you kill?"

"How many villages did you burn?"

Hannibal's head jerked up, seeing four young men, shouting at a shabbily dressed man, who sat leaning against a building. One of the young hecklers spat on the man, who made no effort to fight back.

Hannibal immediately forgot the hot dogs and began running across the street. Since he was still in excellent shape, it was mere seconds before he was staring down the hecklers.

"Is there a problem here?" Hannibal asked, eyes blazing. .

"Sure is. This drunk is a killer."

Hannibal glanced down at the seated man, whose eyes stared into nothingness. A bottle was tucked into his jacket pocket- his army green jacket pocket. Hannibal instinctively stepped between the man and the hecklers.

"I think you are the ones with the problem." Hannibal uttered in a low voice.

"That so?" one of the bullies asked. "Care to discuss it more in the alleyway?"

"I don't think you want to do that." Hannibal said.

The young men all laughed. "What," one of them said, "are we supposed to be afraid of you, old man?"

"Yes, you should be." Hannibal said, as he stepped into the alley.

"What the …?" Face mumbled, upon seeing Hannibal run across the street.

"Looks like he's talking to those guys." B.A. said.

"Uh oh, we have trouble." Face said, as he watched Hannibal step into the alley, the four young men right behind him.

B.A. and Face threw open their doors and began running across the street.

To be continued…


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Hannibal was holding his own in the fight. As B.A. and Face approached, they saw that one of the guys was already down on his knees. Bright blood splashed against the white snow as the bully moaned about his broken nose.

Hannibal had taken down the weakest one quickly. The other three had begun to back him up against the wall, squaring off against the older man.

"Which one do you want?" Face asked B.A., sizing up the bullies. He wasn't sure what was going on, but Hannibal wouldn't be wasting time with these guys unless there was a good reason. That still didn't make him any more comfortable with the attention they were likely to draw. Also, ruining these clothes meant he'd have to resort to Murdock's outfit after all.

"I'll take the big one," B.A. replied. Hannibal could have taken all three of the remaining bullies with no problem, but seeing the glint of steel in their hands gave him enough excuse to get involved. He stepped in and deftly removed the knife from the largest tough's hand, while giving it a painful squeeze. He used the grip to spin the guy around, then B.A. tossed the blade aside. "You look like a sucka to me." He growled, blocking a punch and returning it with one of his own.

"So much for flower power." Face gave the other one with the knife a tap on the shoulder. The hip-looking bully, dressed in a fringed jacket, spun around and took a clumsily aimed swipe at Face's head. Face leaned back and the knife grazed his cheek before he was able to grab the hand that held it. "Aww, come on. Where's the love for your fellow man?" He asked, finding the pressure point at the bully's thumb joint and using it. The kid groaned and dropped the knife, but went for Face with a fist.

Hannibal continued to work on the last one, a middle-weight just the right size to put up some semblance of a fight. Two punches to the gut and a sideswiping kick was the fatal combination to take him down. He rolled on the ground, heaving and groaning as Hannibal wiped the blood from his lip and checked on his team.

B.A. had just put his own guy down against the alley wall. The man was completely out, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. Face had disarmed his opponent, and they were eyeing each other, fists up defensively.

"Aren't you going to help him, B.A.?" Hannibal asked, getting his breath back. Face landed a punch that knocked the breath out of the bully, but the guy still tried a return hook, which Face dodged.

B.A. snickered. "Nope. Faceman look like he got it under control. He grinned and then winced as he saw Face take a particularly hard, unfair knee between the legs. The lieutenant fell to a kneeling position, and B.A. growled. "Now that ain't fair." He said, stepping forward to snatch up the man in the fringed jacket. He spun him around and head butted him. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, and the bully went down in a heap.

"'Coulda done that a little bit sooner," Face groaned, accepting B.A.'s hand up.

"Yeah, but I had to let you give him a try," B.A. said. "You ok?"

"No." Face replied, but he was walking off the pain, looking at their handiwork. Not bad, but he knew he should have been a little quicker with these guys. They were average run of the mill street toughs, after all. He shook his head. "Aww, look at this, Hannibal," he said, pointing to the blood on his shirt. It wasn't all his, either, but a huge stain made the shirt worthless now. "Can you explain why we had to do this? What did they say to you?"

Hannibal didn't reply, but was already heading back to the front of the alley where they'd left the drunken serviceman. Hannibal frowned when he saw he was gone. He didn't know what he'd planned on doing to help the guy, but . . .he would have done something. He turned back around to the inquisitive stares of his men. "I'll explain in the van. We better get out of here before we draw attention to ourselves."

"Before we draw attention to ourselves?" Face looked at B.A., then down at his blood splattered shirt. "He's worried about us drawing attention to ourselves." He said incredulously, then shook his head and quickly moved back to the van.

Hannibal explained the reason for his fight with the hippies while they were eating lunch, which had come from a Chinese restaurant across town. Not wanting to draw any more attention, they didn't go in to eat; Hannibal had gotten everything to go. Now they sat in the hotel room, munching on lo mien noodles, sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls as well as several other dishes.

Once Hannibal told the story, B.A. and Face both agreed he had done the right thing, but B.A. was probably the most upset at what Hannibal had to say. He actually sat his carton to the side, clenching his fists in anger as Hannibal described the abuse the hippies had been giving the soldier. The big man even got up to stalk around the room toward the end of the tale. Face knew B.A. had an overdeveloped sense of what was fair and not fair. He worried it might get his friend into trouble one day.

"If I had known that before we got into it, I probably would have rearranged that sucka's face permanently." B.A. said in a growl as he thought back to the fight.

"You did a pretty good job of that already, B.A." Face replied thoughtfully. He poked

his chopsticks into his container of chow mien and twirled them for a moment. "Things have changed, haven't they?" He said simply, glancing up at the others.

"What do you mean?" Hannibal asked.

"I mean this afternoon. This kind of thing wouldn't have happened when you came back from Korea, right? I get the feeling this isn't an isolated incident." Face had known the world wasn't a friendly place—he wasn't naïve after all—but the scene Hannibal had described made him angry, disgusted and depressed.

Hannibal's look contained a touch of sadness as he measured up his men for a moment before replying. "No. This kind of thing never went on." He admitted. "This country seems to be a different place." There didn't seem to be much else to say.

"Some changes are good," B.A. began, thinking of all the reasons his mom and dad had moved from the South to the North before he'd been born. The world had improved some since then, so change was good…sometimes. "This, though. This just ain't right. People just shouldn't be allowed to act that way." He had stopped in his pacing long enough to glare out of the window at the falling snow.

"You can't change the world, B.A.. The world's had problems a long time. You're just one man." As Face spoke, B.A. turned and regarded him with a dark, silent gaze. "It's not up to you to fix it." Face said finally, trying to make B.A. feel better. He could tell it wasn't working.

"You're wrong. It's everybody's responsibility to fix it." The big man said simply, sitting down at the table in the room and grabbing his rice again. He began to eat once more, using the chopsticks skillfully.

"With that kind of determination, who knows what B.A. could accomplish?" Hannibal said, attempting to play peacemaker again. He certainly spoke with a lot more optimism than he felt because B.A. was starting to scowl more openly. It was time to bring this budding argument to a close. "But he's right, you know." He referred to Face as he glanced to B.A.. "The world has turned into a pretty nasty place. If we're gonna fix it up, we've got a big job ahead of us, don't we?"

B.A. looked up, thinking Hannibal was teasing him, but he could tell that the Colonel wasn't kidding. "Work ain't never scared me." He said defiantly.

Face just shook his head and smiled wanly. "You win." He said. "One man can change the world."

"That's more like it." Hannibal replied. "I'm going to see if our fight made the news. Keep your fingers crossed." He turned on the TV and began switching channels.

"Always." Face and B.A. returned. Crossing their fingers was becoming a way of life for all of them.

It was a slow day for local news, judging by the ending segment on a local elementary school's fundraiser.

"Looks like our little scuffle didn't make headlines." Hannibal breathed a sigh of relief.

"Just glad no police showed up." B.A. said. "That would have been bad."

"Hey Hannibal, turn the TV up." Face said, leaning forward to watch the national news update.

Hannibal leaned forward to adjust the volume as the news anchor began reporting.

"The manhunt for 3 fugitives, known as the A-Team, who escaped from Fort Bragg was called off in Atlanta today. At a press conference, the Army said they were 'disappointed' in the search results and has concluded the fugitives are no longer in Atlanta. The military will now be taking a 'more targeted' approach to searching for the missing men."

B.A. sighed as all 3 of their pictures were flashed on the news. The last thing he wanted all of Chicago to see was a refresher of what they looked like.

The anchor continued. "The Army has asked that you contact them if you have seen any of these three fugitives. However, do not approach them yourselves, as they are considered extremely dangerous. Turning to other news…"

Face walked over the TV and turned it off. "So Lynch finally wised up."

"Well, good news is it sounds like they have no idea where we are." Hannibal frowned. "Bad news is, this makes B.A.'s meeting with Mrs. Baracus a little more complicated. If they've given up in Atlanta, they'll have more heat staking her out."

"Hannibal," Face began, "Do you think it's even wise to go ahead with the meeting? I mean, with all the extra attention and all, wouldn't it be better to go ahead and split?"

"Faceman's right." B.A. said softly, looking at the stained carpet. "Gonna be too dangerous now. Don't wanna get us caught, just so I can see mama."

"We came here to see Mrs. Baracus, and that's what we're going to do." Hannibal said firmly. "We'll just need to do a longer stakeout of the diner. So if you guys are finished eating, we'll head over there now."

They sat in the van for an hour, observing the diner. As a whole, it was a pretty good location. One entrance from the street, a delivery entrance in the rear, and neighboring stores on each side. Across the street was a park, but in the biting cold, it was deserted. Anyone who tried to hang-out nonchalantly in there would stick out like a sore thumb. The one potential problem was the roof, which was flat. It would be easy for someone to hide there. They would just have to make sure that someone was Face, and not one of Lynch's men.

Hannibal tucked a gun into his waistband. "I'm going to go have a look inside. If I'm not back in 10 minutes, get out of here."

He crossed the street as quickly as he dared and was glad to be greeted by warmth when he opened the diner door. He selected a counter stool near the front and sat down.

"Welcome to the Family Diner." A cheery waitress greeted him. "What can I get for you?"

"This dude I know told me you have the best apple pie in town." Hannibal said, in full hippie mode. "I'd really dig some."

"Ok" the waitress smiled, making note of the order and then tucking a pen behind her ear. "One hot piece of apple pie, coming right up."

Hannibal took in his surroundings with a keen eye. Hallway at the back, leading to a pay phone, restrooms, and rear delivery entrance. Kitchen in the back right corner, with a swinging door leading to the dining area. Mirror behind counter, which made it easy for him to check out the customers without turning around. Most of them seemed to be regulars, joking around with the waitresses, who knew what the customers were going to order by memory. That would make things a bit problematic. But if B.A. kept the meeting short, maybe he could get out of there before anyone recognized him.

The waitress re-appeared with the hot pie and set it down before Hannibal. "Here you go. Anything else?"

"No man, I'm good." Hannibal lifted his fork and cut the corner of his pie. His made-up friend was right -- the pie was delicious.

"Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We will be landing in Chicago in about 15 minutes. Please secure your tray tables and make sure your seats are in an upright and locked position. We know you have a choice in air travel, and thank you for choosing United Airlines."

Lynch grumbled as he followed the captain's orders. He hated commercial flights. What a lousy end to a lousy week. Not only had the A-team escaped from his prison, but he had let them lead him on a wild goose chase to Atlanta, where they had, undoubtedly, never been. Needless to say, the search was not going well. And neither was his career. He had been told, in no uncertain terms, that until the team was caught, he would never go any higher. And that was the best-case scenario.

So, here he was, sitting in a miserable middle seat, flying to Chicago to interview Mrs. Baracus. She had been under surveillance for a couple of days, with no leads. He hoped, more than believed, that she would offer some new information. But at this point, he was grasping at straws. And since he didn't have any leads, at least he could offer his superiors the appearance of making progress.

And who knew? Maybe he would get lucky.

To be continued…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The bell above the door of the Family Diner jingled as Mrs. Baracus entered. She was early, but she had left the apartment early because she'd known those military men would be following her. She'd led them on quite a trek, she thought with a smile as she nodded to the waitress behind the long counter and took a seat in the back, near the hallway in the long, fifties style diner. Those military police might not ever find their way back to her apartment after the chase she'd led them on. Mrs. Baracus had taken them through a maze of small shops and stores downtown, and finally lost them by escaping through the back door of a friend's clothing store.

Finally reaching the diner had given her a sense of relief. This place hadn't changed a bit, she thought, as she reached down to finger the checkered tablecloth. She glanced out the window and saw the giant snowflakes continuing to fall. It had been snowing throughout the day, and it seemed as if the flakes had gotten larger by the hour.

"What can I get you, ma'am?" The waitress asked as she set out silverware rolled in a napkin. She took out her pad and gave Mrs. Baracus a smile, tired though it was.

"Hot tea." She answered. "And I've got someone coming to join me. Should be here in a little while."

"Okay. I'll get some more silverware." The girl left, and returned shortly with the tea.

Mrs. Baracus sipped at the tea and wondered what had happened to her son. All she knew was what had been in the papers, and what she could get out of that Colonel Lynch who had showed up at her workplace that morning. She smiled to herself, thinking of how she'd gotten more information from him than he'd gotten out of her. She didn't understand how they got such a wrong idea about Scooter. Her boy did not rob banks.

Scooter had always been a good boy, even though he'd had a temper. She supposed it had been because he'd lost his dad so young. That was bound to make a child angry at the world. Still, he'd never gotten into any real trouble with the law, and she'd seen plenty of mothers' sons end up in jail or worse—shot dead after an argument or robbery.

Her mind scanned back over the years, the scenes playing out like a movie in her mind. Scooter had lost direction after he'd missed out on that football scholarship. She thought back to watching him on the front stoop with the neighborhood boys, the boys he'd gone to high school with. The ones who weren't going anywhere. He'd managed to stay out of trouble somehow; she remembered wondering if it was due to luck or Scooter's good sense. Several of those boys had gone off to prison before Scooter had joined the army, and she'd been worried about him.

The army. She hadn't really liked the idea at all, but . . . it had been the first thing that her boy had been excited about since the scholarship. She'd had to support him. She'd known there wasn't anything for him here, and so she'd given her blessing. Maybe it had all been a mistake, but she'd always done her best.

The sound of the bell above the door brought her out of her reverie, and she saw an older man enter, long white hair hanging out from under the brim of his knit cap. He stumbled to the counter in an obviously drunk fashion, ordered a cup of coffee and then took it in both hands as if trying to be very, very careful that the contents didn't end up on him. He turned slowly, in a half circle before choosing his direction to go back out the door. She sighed, hoping he had somewhere warm to sleep on this cold, cold night.

About ten minutes later, she saw a large form enter the diner. Even though he was enveloped in a heavy coat, gloves and a knitted cap, she immediately recognized her son. She held her breath as he came over.

He slid into the booth, sitting across from her. Both of them understood that they didn't dare draw too much attention to themselves by a tearful greeting and hug.

"Son." She whispered, not knowing what to say. He seemed like someone she didn't know, for a moment. He carried himself with an expression in his eyes that she didn't recognize; something dark and dangerous existed inside of him now. She found herself wondering again, as she'd pondered so many sleepless nights before, what it had been like for him in Vietnam. It was something she knew she'd never be able to understand, and she felt saddened by that.

BA didn't seem to be able to find words either. His mama looked like she was about to cry, and the thought of it made his heart ache. "Mama, it's okay. I'm fine." He said to her in a soft voice that he never ever used with anyone but her. He took off his gloves and took her warm hands in his cold grasp. It used everything in him to stay strong, but he succeeded and gave her a smile.

She nodded. "Take off that hat and let me get a good look at you." She whispered, getting a hold of herself.

He took it off and laid it on the booth next to his gloves. The waitress came over. "What can I get you two?" She asked.

"How about two slices of apple pie and a glass of milk?" BA said. "My friend said the apple pie was good here."

"You bet it is." She answered and scribbled it down on a pad. "I'll bring some more tea for you too." She said to Mrs. Baracus before heading back towards the kitchen.

"Mama." BA began. "I know you must be wondering why they're after me…" He wanted to explain the whole thing.

She could tell how hard this was for him. Wanting to help him, to figure out what had happened, remained central in her thoughts, but easing Scooter's mind came first. "Scooter. Before you tell me all of that, I just want you to know I never doubted that you did the right thing." She said simply. "I can see you've been worrying." She reached out for a brief moment, placing her hand against his scruffy cheek. "Don't ever worry about that. I've always been proud of you."

When she spoke, the leaden weight lifted from BA's shoulders. He struggled for words, staring down at the tablecloth that hadn't changed from the time he was a kid. "I didn't know what you'd think about me." He whispered. "And I worried about you being here all alone."

Mrs. Baracus suddenly laughed softly. "Oh, Scooter, baby." She shook her head. "You don't need to worry. I got friends to look after me. You look up at me." She paused, before catching his eyes with her own gaze. "You're a grown man. It's time for you to make your way in this world—whatever way that ends up being." She made sure he understood, then she continued. "Your friends. Are they still with you?"

BA nodded.

"Are they good people? They'll stick by you?"

"Yeah." He said. "They will."

"Then I won't need to worry about you so much." She replied, acting much more positive than she really felt inside. She knew she would worry. A lot. But Scooter didn't need that burden on him. She looked up, and the waitress had returned with the pie.

"Now that we've got that settled, tell me about these friends of yours and what happened. I want to know the whole story. . ."

Face pulled his knit cap down a little lower on his head. It was cold enough outside, without lying on top of the snow-covered roof of the diner. He'd been up there quite a while, observing, before Hannibal, disguised as an old drunk, went in and then out of the diner. Now BA was inside, talking to his mother.

Face didn't begrudge BA the chance to talk to her. Heck, if he had a mom, he'd probably want to talk to her too. It must be nice to have someone like that… someone who knows you inside and out, and loves you anyway. Who would always be there for you, no matter what. He once thought he had found someone like that, someone who could become his family, but he had been wrong. It seemed like he was destined to make his own way in the world, alone. Just as he always had.

He pulled the collar of his jacket a little tighter as a strong gust of wind blew. Why would anyone want to live here, anyway? It was too cold, and definitely too windy. He couldn't wait to get back to California. Back to the warm sunshine, sandy beaches, and lovely women in bikinis. The thought made him smile.

At least for a moment.

He watched as a rental car pulled into a parking space down the street. The driver was obviously lousy at parallel parking. After straightening up the car a few times, the driver got out. Face's blood ran cold.

It was Lynch.

He wore a coat over his army uniform, but there was no mistaking it was him. Face would know that moustache and smug looking expression anywhere. And he was walking towards the diner.

Face quickly whistled a bird call, his signal to Hannibal to get BA and get the heck out of dodge. He watched long enough to see Hannibal, disguised as a drunk, jump up from the sidewalk and run inside.

Face crouched and ran over the back of the building, jumping onto a trash dumpster as Hannibal and BA burst out of the back door of the diner and ran towards the van. Lynch also ran out the back door, just a few seconds behind them.

Face held his breath as he watched Lynch pull out a gun and fire a warning shot wildly into the air.

"Stop right there, Baracus, or you're next!"

Lynch had slowed, and was now walking towards the men, his gun pointed directly at BA.

Hannibal and BA turned around, hands in the air. There was nothing else they could do.

Lynch smiled smugly. "Looks like I've got you, Sergeant Baracus. And who's your friend? Is that Colonel Smith?"

"Well, it isn't Santa Claus." Hannibal quipped. "But cheer up, Lynch. Christmas is coming early this year and you're getting a big surprise."

"You just don't change, do you, Smith? Making jokes until the end." Lynch said. The self-satisfied smile didn't leave his face, however, as he looked over his hard won prey.

Caught up in his good fortune, he never saw Face slip quietly off the trash dumpster and sneak up behind him. He never knew what hit him.

Face gave an innocent shrug of his shoulders as Lynch went down in a dazed heap, groaning. "He just didn't know he was on Santa's 'naughty' list, did he?" He reached down and grabbed Lynch's gun.

"We're going to be on the 'naughty' list if we don't get out of here." Hannibal said. "Van. Now."

The three of them reached the van, hearing a whole chorus of sirens in the background. They climbed in as Lynch struggled to his feet and towards the street. As he pulled into traffic, BA saw the lead car of the line of army sedans stop and pick up Lynch. "There's a lot of 'em behind us, Hannibal." He said as he tried a few quick turns, weaving through the cars on the road.

"I know. Having fun?" Hannibal grinned and lit a cigar as he glanced in the side mirror. The van handled the hairpin turns as well as a van could—probably due to BA's tweaking, he realized. He reminded himself to compliment BA on that later.

Face held on to his seat, glancing out the back windows and seeing flashing lights. He thought he could actually see Lynch in the front seat of the lead car as it darted daringly in and out of traffic. "The lead car is pretty close." He called out. "At least they're not shooting at us."

A metallic ping proved him wrong. "Ok. Scratch that. They are shooting at us." He called out as he hit the floor of the vehicle, heart racing. He'd been shot at before, so many times he couldn't count, but he never seemed to get used to it.

"BA—" Hannibal called out. "That idiot is going to get someone killed if we don't get out of here."

"I know." BA said through gritted teeth. He wheeled through the different streets, making his way toward the expressway and losing two of the army cars along the way. There were more shots as they made a particularly sharp turn.

"I think he's trying to shoot our tires." Face called warningly.

"Of course he is." Hannibal said. He glanced in the large side mirror and shook his head. "And he's a lousy shot. It figures."

"That sucka ain't gonna shoot out MY tires." BA growled. The van's engine shrieked and the tires squealed as he put a few cars between the two of them. Slowly, BA increased his lead, concentrating on the road. Lynch's driver, trying to catch up and probably urged on by Lynch, did something stupid by running a light at the wrong time.

The bad judgment caused a cross-bound car to crash into the back end of Lynch's car. The impact spun the ruined sedan around like a top. Hannibal watched the whole thing in the side mirror. It didn't look as if it were a deadly crash, but that sedan would need some body work before anyone would drive it again. The wreck created a mess that would be enough to congest the intersection and keep the rest of the pursuit held up behind it. Hearing the crash, BA slowed the van down enough for them to get a quick glimpse.

"Guess Lynch will need a new car." Hannibal said as he watched the mass of flashing lights begin to fade into the background.

"And a new gun." Face reminded them, holding up Lynch's confiscated M1911.

"Hey guys--maybe we can send him a toy car and gun for Christmas. That'd really burn him up." Hannibal glanced from Face to BA. "What do you think?"

"Let's not plan on Christmas yet." BA said. "We 'ain't even made it to Thanksgiving." He shook his head, trying to remain serious, but he began to snicker—unable to help himself. Face's laughter joined his own. "But it is a good idea."

"Remember, anger is the best way to keep your enemy off balance." Hannibal sat back in his seat, trying to imagine the look that would be on Lynch's face when he opened the gift. It was still on his mind as BA turned onto the expressway and drove them into the dark night.

To be continued…


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It had been almost 24 hours since they'd escaped Chicago, leaving Lynch's men in the middle of an accident scene behind them. Following Hannibal's plan, they'd taken a winding path through several states to throw off anyone trying to anticipate their next move. They had taken the driving in shifts and now, it was late afternoon. Hannibal slept in the back of the van while BA drove and Face sat in the passenger seat. It was the first time Hannibal had slept since before the confrontation with Lynch.

"I-25 is going to take us to Albuquerque." Face said as he scanned the map they had purchased a few gas stations back. He folded it up, tucked it into the middle console between the seats, and rubbed his eyes. He felt as if he'd been staring at the yellow lines on the road for years. "You tired? I could drive for a while."

BA shook his head. "I'm good for now." He seemed happiest when behind the wheel of the van, so Face didn't push the issue. He was pretty tired and didn't relish any more time driving anyway.

"About time Hannibal got some sleep." Face glanced back at Hannibal, wrapped in a sleeping bag. "I don't know how he stays awake so long."

"The jazz." BA replied simply. "Nothin' can stop Hannibal when he's on the jazz."

Face nodded, thinking about their Colonel. Sometimes Hannibal seemed so simple, easy to figure out, but then sometimes he was as enigmatic as hieroglyphics. He had never been like Face's two previous commanders. Both of them had held a condescending opinion of Hannibal Smith, and they criticized his every mission behind his back. It had only taken a day or two of knowing Hannibal before Face realized their problem with his new superior; they were jealous.

Face had realized that Hannibal was a brilliant commander that first day he'd reported for his new assignment. He'd expected Hannibal to lay down the law the way all of them did initially. He knew there would be an hour-long description of the way things were done on Hannibal's team, and had prepared himself for it before reporting for duty. Instead, the Colonel had motioned him over to the table where he sat.

"What do you see, Lieutenant Peck?" He asked, pointing down at the map which marked out one of the last missions undertaken by Wilcox and Johnson's platoons.

Face had been thrown off. This was not what he'd expected, but he leaned in and studied the map. The mission to destroy an important bridge the previous week had been a disaster of planning and organization, and both platoons involved had been cut-up pretty badly by the NVA. When Hannibal had asked, Face had been hesitant to offer his opinion on the mess, not sure if his new boss had a hand in the planning. "I don't know if I'm in a position to comment, Sir." He replied stiffly.

"Sure you are. Here's the map and troop movements." He gestured. "You have all the information you need. I want to know your opinion, lieutenant."

"May I speak freely, Sir?" He asked.

Hannibal answered him with a broad smile. "Go ahead."

"First of all, two platoons were too many men to do the job. A small group would have been more effective at slipping in and slipping out without notice." Face pointed to several places on the map where troop movements should have been adjusted. "Also, these guys should have never been dropped here. Everyone knows that zone's been too hot." He pointed to a different area on the map. "If they had to go in with so many, they should have been inserted here. It would have been a longer hike, but a safer one."

Hannibal had studied him a moment, then nodded. "That's exactly what I would have done." There was a pause, and then Hannibal went on, "I've heard good things about you, Lieutenant. Nice to know they are true."

"Thank you, sir." Face had replied, keeping his reaction carefully neutral, as he had tried to do since entering the room.

Hannibal regarded him for a moment. "That's a nice poker face kid, but don't use it with me. You can always speak freely. I don't play games, and I don't want you to either. Understand?"

Face's eyes snapped to Hannibal's in surprise. "Yes, Sir." He replied.

Hannibal leaned forward again to glance back down at the map. "This bridge. We're taking it out like they should have last week." Face had nodded, studying the map with new eyes. "And..." Hannibal handed him the map. "I want your plan by tomorrow morning."

"Plan, Sir?" Face had asked.

"I want your plan for taking out this bridge on this table by tomorrow morning. We head out the day after tomorrow."

Just like that, Face had become a valued member of the team. He remembered working the plan until late into the night, and they had gone with it, too, with only a few minor adjustments from Hannibal. Of course, the operation had been a success, like so many of their other missions. Up until then, Face's life in the army had been following orders, saying and doing exactly what was expected of him. Hannibal had changed all of that. He'd made Face rely upon his own talents and abilities and gave him a new sense of responsibility and devotion to his team. Face couldn't even begin to list the things he'd learned in that first year of being in Hannibal's outfit.

"You fallin' asleep on me, Faceman?" BA's voice broke into Face's thoughts. If BA was prodding him for conversation, Face knew he really must have been daydreaming for a while.

He shook his head, sat up, and stretched. "No. Just thinking about the first time I met Hannibal." Face replied. "He wasn't what I expected."

"He ain't never what anyone expects." BA agreed, then gave Face a quick glance before turning his eyes back to the road. "Neither are you." BA was still impressed by Face's actions at the diner.

Face started to make a joke about how BA should thank him, but he knew it wasn't the right response. Both BA and Hannibal had already complimented him for his fast response with Lynch, and it was telling that BA thought enough of it to mention it again. "It was nothing. I just can't figure out how Lynch found us. He's either a really lucky man, or …"

"I been thinkin' about that." BA said, passing an extremely slow moving truck. "I think the waitress tipped them off." He had been going over the meeting in his mind and remembered how she had never come back after bringing the food to the table. He'd seen her glancing at him and talking to the cook, just a few moments before Hannibal had come in and given the signal that it was time to go.

"Could be." Face agreed. "Maybe we'll hear about it on the news." There had been a little chatter on the radio, but nothing detailed, and they hadn't seen a TV since lunch, before the meeting with BA's mom.

"Maybe." BA agreed. "Speakin' of the news, we got to call Murdock. Find out what the crazy fool's doin'. If Lynch was talkin' to my mama, you know he's been grillin' Murdock or he had somebody doin' it for him."

Face nodded. "Let's hope, for Lynch's sake, that he hasn't done anything else to Murdock." He thought back to Murdock being shot. He had never seen Hannibal so angry; he would never forgive Lynch for shooting and then interrogating his captain. "I think we should stop in Albuquerque to eat and make the phone call."

BA agreed. "We got a couple more hours before we get there. What disguise you think Hannibal will use this time?"

Hannibal chose a new persona for this stop. Apparently Murdock had thrown in several western styled shirts that would have made any Grand Ole' Opry cowboy proud. They were nauseating to look at, and Face didn't hesitate to give his opinion while Hannibal changed in the back of the van, then headed inside the little truck stop to get dinner.

He came back out with two bags of hamburgers and fries. After they ate, Hannibal had suggested that Face wear the other matching cowboy shirt, which was in a garish shade of robin's egg blue. Face grumbled, especially after hearing BA's laugh from the front seat, but he consoled himself with the fact that he wouldn't have to wear the hideous outfit for long. The disguises were perfect, however, and he and Hannibal drew no undue attention as they went back into the restaurant and made the phone call to Murdock from the phone booths in the back.

Face glanced at Hannibal, who sat next to the phone booth listening. "Westwood, VA," the voice on the other line said after several rings.

"Ah, yes. Can you transfer me to the Psychiatric Ward, please?" He gave Hannibal a thumbs-up. An unfamiliar nurse answered, so he asked, "May I please speak with Laurie?"

"Sure. Hold on." A long pause, then a familiar voice followed. "This is Nurse Basden."

"Hi. It's Lieutenant Peterson." He said, glad for the quiet in the back of the restaurant to help him maintain the pretense of being in an office back at Womack Medical Center.

"Oh! Hello. I was wondering if you were going to call back." She sounded extremely pleased to hear from him.

"Well, you know how it is. Just mounds of paperwork." He said. "How's the Captain? I wanted to call sooner to check on him, but this is really the first chance I've had. Things have been . . . ah. . . .hectic." He glanced at Hannibal, who rolled his eyes at the obvious understatement.

"Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news is that he can actually take phone calls now. The bad news is that he's going to be here a while." She said, a sad note in her voice. She lowered it to a whisper as she went on. "His psych evaluation didn't go well. He's been diagnosed with paranoid delusions and intermittent memory loss. The doctor doesn't have plans to release him any time soon."

She paused, then continued in a whisper. "The strange thing is that these MP's have been coming to question him. Dr. Richter wouldn't allow it, but he's out of town this weekend, and as soon as he left, these MP's came in and bullied the on-call doctor into letting them see the Captain. They were with him for about two hours. He was really upset when they left, and he wouldn't talk to anyone. That's about all I can tell you." She tried to brighten her voice. "Would you like to speak to him? He was really glad to get your message before, and I know talking to you would probably cheer him up."

Face replied too quickly. He didn't like the sound of what Laurie was saying at all. "Yes. That would be wonderful."

"I'll transfer you to his room. Hang on." Another pause and then a click.

The phone rang four times before Murdock's voice came across the line, sounding very tired. "What do you want now?"

"Murdock. It's me, Trevor Peterson." Face said, locking eyes meaningfully with Hannibal. The colonel had leaned forward, so he could overhear as much of the conversation as possible.

"Is it?" Murdock immediately lowered his voice.

"I've got an origami tiger to prove it." Face said. He could have chosen a million other things to prove he was who he said, but all of them would have given away his identity. The room or phone might be bugged, or people might be listening, so he tread carefully. "How . . .how are you?" He asked.

"Incurably insane." Murdock replied, his tone serious and careful. "How are you?" Once again, Face and Hannibal exchanged a look. It was hard to tell how much of this was being put on for someone else's benefit, and how much was real.

"I'm good for now." Face answered. "Is there anyone with you?"

"My dog Billy's the only one here right now. I've had lots of other visitors with uniforms today—you know. It's nice to hear from one of my friends back at Bragg. Do you know there's lots of bugs in California? I hate bugs. These are nothing like the bugs you guys have back there. These hide really well, but I found them."

"Did you?" Face was at a loss. Murdock was trying to give him a hint that the room or phone had been bugged. "Where did you find them?"

"Oh crawling everywhere. Under things, inside things, you know. I think I squashed 'em all, but you never know when you might miss one. They're sneaky little bugs."

Face exchanged another look with Hannibal. Murdock was afraid he'd missed finding a bug, so he was urging them to be careful. "I was calling to check on you, Murdock. All the guys back at Bragg were kind of worried about you. You doing okay?"

"Yes and no." He returned, and it was uncertain what he meant exactly by that. Face almost asked a question to clarify, but Murdock went on before he had a chance. "How's the rest of the family?" He asked. "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah. We're great." He replied.

"Are you sure? Everyone's okay?" Murdock's tone seemed a little less controlled and Face could sense his worry.

"Yeah. We're all in good health." Face assured him.

"That's not what I heard from my other friends today. But I'm glad to find out I was misinformed. Somebody was playing a really mean trick. Hang on a second…" Face and Hannibal listened, and they could hear Murdock telling 'Billy' to quiet down and stop barking. There was no sound of a dog in the background. A thread of worry began to work itself into Face's thoughts, but he tried to tell himself this was probably an act, put on for the benefit of anyone listening in.

"Murdock. They let you have a dog?" Face asked.

"Sure. Billy's just a puppy, so he barks a lot, you know. I'm surprised you can't hear him."

Face frowned, but didn't ask too many more questions for fear of blowing Murdock's cover, if indeed it was a cover. "You know, some of the guys at Bragg are thinking about taking leave and flying out there to see you. Do you think that would be okay?"

Murdock seemed to ponder it a moment. "Yeah. But just be careful, Trevor. You gotta watch out for aliens and their heat rays."

"You know we will. Too bad you can't fly us yourself."

"I know. Wish I could, but they don't let us have things like that around here. No sharp objects, shoestrings, airplanes or choppers. Where's the fun in that? I tried to tell 'em, but you know how that goes. Hang on…" There was the noise of feet crossing the room, then coming back. "I gotta go. I think I see some more aliens now. Watch yourself, Trev. Tell everyone I said hi."

"Murdock—" Face began, but the connection was terminated. He hung up the phone and glanced unhappily at Hannibal.

"I know. Come on." Hannibal said grimly. He hadn't liked Murdock's comment about the mean trick someone played on him. Hannibal knew it must have been some of Lynch's goons. Who knew what kind of lies they had told the captain, trying to pry more information out of him? And if Murdock really was having trouble holding onto reality, that kind of stress was the last thing he needed. It only made him angrier at Lynch. He tried to rein that in, knowing he wouldn't make good decisions if he let his anger get the best of him.

As Hannibal climbed into the van's front seat, he satisfied his anger by making a promise. He would make Lynch pay for this, in one way or another.

To be continued…


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"What do you see, Hannibal?"

"Not much." Hannibal said, grimly, looking through his binoculars. "Only one way in, and that's through the front door. A few fire exits at the back of the building, but they'll be locked from the inside. We could always go in through the kitchen, but it's not in the psych ward, so we'd have to make our way through most of the hospital to get to Murdock that way."

"How about the windows?" Face asked

"They have bars on all of the windows – even the ones on higher floors."

Face shuddered to think why the bars were necessary.

"Well," Hannibal said, finally lowering the binoculars, "looks like the front door is our best shot. There's no way all three of us will be able to go in. We'll have to bring him to us."

"How we gonna do that?" BA asked. He had been quietly sitting in the driver's seat of the van up until that point. "We break him out, he's gonna be in as much trouble as we are."

"We're not going to break him out, just take him for a walk. Face – still remember the medical lingo?"

"How could I forget?" Face only wished he could. He had been around more hospitals and seen more injuries and death in 'Nam than he ever cared to see again. They all had.

"Alright then. We'll come back tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I think we could all use another good night's sleep."

Face tried to sleep, but it eluded him. He kept tossing and turning, rehearsing tomorrow's scam in his mind, over and over again. Usually, he could pull off a scam with just a little thought. It had almost become second nature. But this time, he kept creating different scenarios, trying to anticipate every obstacle. His scam had to work. He would not fail Murdock.

Eventually, he got up and quietly got dressed, careful not to wake BA, who was sleeping soundly in the other bed. Face figured that if he couldn't sleep, he might as well be on guard duty. If you could call it that.

They had been staying at the run-down motel for a few days, catching up on some much needed rest. Nothing eventful had happened so far, and nobody seemed to give them a second glance. But with the diner incident fresh in their minds, they had set-up a night watch rotation. Face scanned the parking lot, and noting the coast was clear, headed to the van where Hannibal was watching the room.

Hannibal looked surprised, but reached over and unlocked the passenger side door.

"What's wrong, kid? You're not due for another two hours."

"Couldn't sleep." Face climbed into the van and closed the door. He reached for the thermos of coffee sitting on the floor and poured some into a Styrofoam cup.

Hannibal considered a moment and then leaned back in the seat, getting comfortable again while the night and the quiet settled back around them like a cool sheet. He sensed Face's worry, and contemplated the best way to reassure his lieutenant.

Face started, more than once, to share the worry on his mind, but couldn't find the right way to begin. So much depended upon him, and he wanted desperately to be seen as up to the task. Carrying out a mission in Nam was one thing, but this. . .somehow these stakes seemed higher, he thought.

"Do you know what made me decide to get you transferred from Bradley's unit to mine?" Hannibal asked.

Face shook his head and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee, glancing over at Hannibal.

There was an amused smile as the colonel met his eyes, then went back to scanning the parking lot. "It was what you did to that Colonel Decker." His smile turned into a grin. "Putting his face on a wanted poster. Nice. I knew I had to have a soldier like the one that pulled that off."

Face smiled as he thought back to what he'd done to Decker. He knew Hannibal and Decker didn't get along—their confrontation at the DOOM club in 'Nam had been told and retold so many times that it had become legend. Face had admired Hannibal's taking Decker down a notch or two, so about a week after the altercation, the posters had appeared all over the base. There had been so many of them, it had taken a squad two weeks to find and remove them all. No one had ever connected Face with it, however. "Ah, how did you find out I did it?" Face said. There didn't seem a point in denying it.

"Well, I had an idea, but I never knew for certain, until now, that is." Hannibal chuckled. "You've got imagination and style, kid. I like that."

Face shook his head. "What gave you the idea it was me?"

"Oh no. I'm not giving away all my secrets. But when I became reasonably sure it was you, I began checking into your background. Not officially, but just talking to people, finding out about you. I found that the episode with Decker was not the only plan you'd pulled off successfully."

Face shrugged humbly, but felt pleased that someone admired his handiwork.

"But, one thing I've learned about plans is they are only good until you actually get into battle. Then, usually, the situation calls for improvisation." He glanced over at Face. "That's what you're good at. It's why I depend on you. Remember that tomorrow."

Face nodded. "I just worry that something's going to go really wrong."

"It might." Hannibal didn't lie. It could go very wrong. "But if it does, you'll think of something. You always do," Hannibal said. "If I didn't know that for a fact, I wouldn't send you in."

Face nodded again, feeling more confident about what he had to do. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will." Hannibal said. "I don't expect anything less."

The two sat there comfortably as the night quietly settled back around them. After a while, Hannibal realized Face had fallen asleep, his head propped against the window. He considered waking his lieutenant up and making him head back to bed, but he knew that Face might not make it back to sleep if awakened. Any rest was probably better than no rest at all, Hannibal supposed. The kid had a tough job ahead of him tomorrow. He reached over and slipped the empty cup from Face's hand, then moved quietly to the back of the van and returned with a blanket. He draped it over Face, and then sat back down, playing sentinel once more. They were still in the same positions when the sun rose, lighting the sky with streaks of color.

Murdock looked around as he entered what everyone called the "day room." It was the place where many of the patients spent most of their days doing crafts, playing games or watching TV. Johnson, one of the orderlies, was already in here watching a local news show and reading the newspaper at the same time. This wasn't good. If there was any news on the team, it would most likely be on the national news, not the local morning show.

He'd escaped breakfast early to do this, nibbling just enough to satisfy the staff, taking his meds, then asking for permission to go to the day room. The question was, would Johnson cooperate or not? He was one of the tougher orderlies around here, and Murdock had already been warned by the patients to tread carefully around him. Their paths had crossed once or twice, but nothing major. Yet.

"I gotta check channel six." Murdock said casually, flipping the station as he reached up to the TV set. Maybe Johnson wouldn't even notice. "Find out if the aliens have invaded anywhere else."

"Look. You guys aren't supposed to be out of breakfast yet." Johnson laid the paper aside, got out of his chair and walked over to Murdock. He was a rather bulky man who was used to wrestling patients down when they got too rowdy. Murdock didn't relish the idea of giving the orderly a reason to grab him. It had been almost two weeks since he'd been shot, but his shoulder still hurt. He still had to wear his arm in a sling, and his shoulder was taped to immobilize it as it continued to heal.

"Aww, come on, please?" Murdock said. "This is a matter of national security. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't absolutely necessary."

"Look. You need to head back to breakfast. I'm not even on the clock until eight thirty." Johnson sighed, crossing his arms in front of him stubbornly.

Murdock put on a pleading expression, but tried to speak in an even, controlled tone. "You don't understand. I HAVE to see the news. Only thirty minutes, then I promise I'll leave you alone all day."

Johnson just stared.

"You won't even see me." Murdock promised again.

Something in Murdock's expression worked because the orderly walked away, muttering about working in the crazy ward. Murdock didn't pay attention to Johnson's retreat, but instead focused on the TV after settling on the couch. There were several news items about the team: there was a brief interview with a woman in Wyoming who swore Face had tried to pick her up in a bar, and a couple in Alabama who said they'd seen Face filling up a Camaro at a gas station. Both sightings supposedly occurred within two hours of each other, which Murdock thought was bound to send Lynch into fits. The very idea made him grin.

As he continued watching, nothing more was mentioned about the team—no accidents or run-ins with the police or MPs. This was the best he could do to check on his friends, but he still wished he could do more. Murdock sighed, feeling the anxiety around his heart loosen a little.

He'd worried about them a lot, even before Lynch's guys had come and told him that Hannibal and BA had been killed in a high speed chase. The officers had even had incident reports to back up the lies. Murdock hadn't known what to believe as they tried to extract information from him about where Face would run to hide. He couldn't even remember what had gone through his mind. All he remembered were a lot of voices that didn't say anything. After a while, it was quiet and he'd found himself back in his room. Then the phone call from Face…

Murdock's thoughts quickly skated from idea to idea. The visit from Lynch's men and the bugs in his room really bothered him. It reminded him that he could not afford to trust anyone at this facility, except maybe Dr. Richter—and Murdock wasn't too sure about him either. Maybe this whole place was bugged and staffed with people trying to get information out of him. He felt an icy chill as he glanced over at Johnson, who was reading the paper at one of the tables by the window. The orderly could easily be working for Lynch's men. Suddenly, Murdock wanted nothing better than to get out of here. He wanted to check his room for bugs again, just in case someone had been busy in there while he'd been at breakfast.

"Thanks, Johnson." He called out as he got up from the couch. It wouldn't pay to act suspiciously. He turned to go and froze.

Face stood there, dressed in white. For one terrifying moment, Murdock wondered if he were seeing a ghost. He couldn't seem to make his feet move, and his heart thudded in his chest.

"Captain Murdock. I'm supposed to take you outside for some exercise walking around the grounds. Does that sound okay?" Face spoke gently after noticing the look of shock on his friend's features.

When Face spoke, the ghostly illusion wavered, and Murdock realized his friend was wearing the orderlies' uniform. As the surreal feeling continued to fade, Murdock realized that Face had also disguised himself with darker hair and a moustache. He'd looked right past all of that at first, focusing on the eyes only.

"A walk sounds like a great idea." Johnson said from his window seat, sounding both distracted and slightly annoyed. "Keep him as long as you want."

"Come on." Face reached out and ushered Murdock towards the door. "It's okay." He added, still speaking in a soft voice. "You've got some visitors waiting outside."

To be continued…


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Face led Murdock outside of the VA and onto the grounds. The morning was mild, a typical California early November day. The dew on the grass sparkled as the sun peeked over the trees. They walked in silence, Murdock evidently still stunned that Face was there.

They had the grounds to themselves, except for a few maintenance workers repairing a broken sprinkler head. When they were out of earshot of the workers, Face finally spoke.

"Hannibal and BA are over there, just behind the trees."

Murdock nodded numbly. Face wasn't sure if that was due to shock, too many meds, or something else he dared not think about. He certainly looked as if he hadn't been sleeping; there were dark circles underneath his eyes to attest to that fact.

Face led Murdock towards a picnic table situated in the shade of the trees. Hannibal was seated on one of the benches, dressed in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt—one of the more tolerable selections from Murdock's bag. As they drew closer, BA stepped out from behind a tree.

"Murdock." Hannibal spoke first, studying him. He reached out and briefly placed a hand on his captain's uninjured shoulder.

"It's good to see you." BA said as he approached the table.

Murdock only nodded at first, as he stood in front of them, with Face by his side. "I . . .I didn't really expect to see you guys here. It's nice of you to come. . ." He glanced at Face, then back at BA and Hannibal.

He'd dreamed about seeing them every night. Usually one of two things would happen in his dreams—Hannibal would express disappointment in Murdock's failed escape attempt or Lynch would roll up with a fleet of army green vehicles full of MPs. If it were a particularly bad dream, both would happen. He'd almost been successful at pushing the dream aside during his waking hours. Now, as he faced the rest of the team, forgetting the mistakes he'd made was impossible. He looked around nervously, afraid of what he might see if he met Hannibal's eyes.

"Have a seat." Face urged Murdock. Hannibal's inquisitive glance made him check his watch. "I got him out with no problem. The orderly on duty knows he's out on a walk, so we should have plenty of time."

"Good job." Hannibal replied, taking a seat across from Murdock at the wooden picnic table. "How's your shoulder?"

"It's better." Murdock avoided Hannibal's eyes, and instead began running the fingertips of one hand over the surface of the table. Then, without explaining, he moved from the bench so he could inspect the underside of the picnic table. He continued the process with both benches.

Face and BA glanced at Hannibal, not quite understanding. Hannibal shook his head at their silent questions and simply waited for Murdock to finish what he was doing.

"Just checking." Murdock murmured, giving them a quick glance. He still didn't see any blame or recriminations in their eyes, like he'd expected. "You just don't know who might be listening, you know." He was trying to explain; he had so much to say, but the right words seemed frozen somewhere in his brain, and they wouldn't come out.

The threads of concern Face had been feeling since the phone call with Murdock began to form into a solid fabric of worry. Checking the picnic tables for bugs seemed logical, but it also seemed too paranoid somehow. "It's okay. We've been really careful." He promised. "No one should know that we're even in town."

Murdock's gaze skated quickly over to him. He gave a nod and then looked back down at the surface of the table.

There was a long pause as they all struggled for something to say. Murdock was definitely not himself right now. The furtive glances, the nervous behavior, the silence—none of this was normal for him. They dared not ask the question that was foremost in their thoughts.

"I'm sorry. I know this is all my fault." The words that had been echoing in Murdock's mind for over two weeks burst from him like a breath that had been held for too long. He closed his eyes, afraid to hear what they would say to him.

"Your fault?" Hannibal asked in surprise too loudly, causing Murdock to jump a little. "What could possibly be your fault?" He asked again, making sure to use a softer tone.

"It wasn't a good plan. I should have seen that." Murdock explained. "I should have seen everything that could have gone wrong. I should have done a better job. . ." His eyes were downcast, focusing on his tightly clenched hand. "I know what you came here to say."

"Murdock." Hannibal watched the anxiety play across Murdock's features, and felt an echoing ache in his own heart. He understood. This whole time, Murdock had been playing and replaying the unsuccessful escape attempt—torturing himself about what he could have done differently. Hannibal could still see Murdock's pale face in his mind, as the pilot apologized for failing them after he had been shot. He reached out and placed a hand on Murdock's arm, when his voice didn't work to get the captain's attention. Their eyes met.

"I want you to hear me on this. Nothing is your fault." The colonel said, trying to pierce the veil of distraction that had settled over Murdock. "Plans fail for no reason whatsoever, except that the jazz just wasn't with us that day. You did your best and none of us blamed you. We've been worried about you, that's all. We came here today to check on you."

"Yeah. One for all, all for one." Face said, giving Murdock a smile.

"You stuck by us. We're gonna stick by you." BA said. He laid a hand on Murdock's left shoulder. "You didn't think we were gonna leave you, did you?"

Murdock shook his head. "Um…I don't know what to say." He whispered.

"You don't gotta say nothin'." BA told him. "You did more for us than anybody else. It just don't make sense to be apologizin' for that."

Murdock nodded in reply. Finally he spoke, trying to change the subject because if he thought any more about what they'd just said to him, he knew he'd lose his composure completely. "Um. . .so how did you get here? I saw a report that Face was in Alabama filling up the tank of a Camaro only a few hours ago."

While BA patrolled the perimeter, Face and Hannibal filled him in on the escape, emphasizing that the bag Murdock had left them had made the entire escape possible. They had spent almost all of the money he left them, and the guns had provided a much needed measure of security. And then there were the clothes.

"Those clothes!" Face remarked. "Murdock, the stuff you left us has got to be the ugliest clothing I've ever seen. I've been dying to ask. Where did you find stuff like that?"

Murdock shook his head, smiling as well. "Aw, I don't know. I can't give away all my fashion secrets, Faceman. I'm glad it helped though. I tried to think of everything we would need."

"You did a great job." Hannibal replied. They went through and described all the disguises they'd used. They went into greater detail as they both realized the medicine Murdock needed most was knowing he'd been able to help them after all.

After their story, Murdock told them about the visit from Lynch's men, including the lies they'd used to try and get information. Hannibal listened intently while Murdock explained what he remembered of the two hour interrogation.

"They tried, but I didn't tell them anything." Murdock said. "After a while, they put pictures of a crashed van down on the table, and told me that there had been an accident. I got real worried. They said Face was the only person who made it out." He glanced from Hannibal, to Face, and then to BA who had walked over to listen. "But I didn't say anything. I just quit listening. I don't remember too much of what they said after that. I tried to pay attention, Hannibal, but I just couldn't hear what they were saying."

Murdock paused a moment, then gathered himself and went on. "Eventually they gave up. I'm so glad you guys are okay. I mean, I was going crazy worrying what had happened. If you hadn't called me when you did, Face. . ." Murdock shook his head, unwilling to go back and relive the thoughts that had been spinning through his mind.

"And they were here on Lynch's direct orders, from what you could tell?" Hannibal asked with a steely glint in his eyes.

"Yeah. They said they were, and all the paperwork I saw had Lynch's name on it." Murdock nodded.

Face glanced at BA while Murdock answered Hannibal's questions. He noticed with alarm that BA was clenching his fists, which was always a prelude to one of his angry outbursts. In a minute, he'd be growling. He motioned BA away from the bench as Hannibal continued to glean information from Murdock.

"Don't upset him, BA. Keep it together." Face whispered. There was no need to distress Murdock any more after what he'd been through at the hands of the Lynch's goons.

"I'm gonna kill Lynch. The man better hope I don't get my hands on him, Face, 'cause I ain't likely to let go." One of BA's fists was clenched inside the other, as if BA were trying to keep his hands from destroying something in lieu of Lynch.

"I know. I'll be right there to back you up, but just keep it together in front of Murdock." He searched BA's eyes, looking for a promise that the big guy would keep himself under control. BA nodded after a moment, and let out a big sigh as he returned back to the table with Face.

"What happened?" Murdock began looking around, noticing their return.

"Nothin'. Thought I saw some maintenance guys comin' this way, but they're workin' on that flowerbed beside the buildin'." BA said, feeling guilty about the lie. But there were maintenance men working on the flowerbed. That much was true.

"Oh? You're sure we're okay?" Murdock stood up, a little unsteadily, and began to scan the area. "Maybe you guys should go." He said uneasily.

"That might not be a bad idea, Hannibal. He's been gone an hour and a half." Face said. "Much longer and they're going to start wondering . . . and looking."

Murdock looked at the three of them, feeling a real, actual pain in his heart. These were his friends, the people who knew him best in the world. They'd seen so much together and each of them had become a part of him in some way. He didn't want them to go, but they had to. They would be safer. He could feel his face start to betray his emotions and he looked down quickly, making an effort to mask his expression before anyone could notice.

"We'll be back, soon." Face promised. "Trevor will call and keep you up to date." He briefly placed a hand on Murdock's shoulder.

Hannibal had come around the table. "Don't believe anything you hear from anyone that Lynch sends. If something happens, we will contact you. If you don't hear it directly from us, then you know it's a lie. Understand, Captain?" Murdock nodded.

Hannibal went on with a smile. "I'm proud of how you've handled yourself, but then that's nothing new."

"Gosh, I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz." Murdock quipped weakly. Saying goodbye was proving to be so hard. He turned to BA. "What advice do you have, Lion?"

"Nothin'." BA replied, and then reached out to give Murdock a gentle hug. "You just take care of yourself." Over Murdock's shoulder, he gave Face and Hannibal a glare that said they could keep any comments to themselves. Then he left, muttering something about going to get the van.

Murdock watched him stalk through the trees, not knowing what to say. "Uh… so when are you guys leaving LA?"

Hannibal glanced at Face, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Actually, Murdock, we all discussed it and thought we'd hang around LA for a while." Hannibal said.

Murdock's eyes brightened. "Really? You're going to stay here?" The joy was evident on his face, but then his eyebrows furrowed. "You're not staying here just because of me, are you? Because I'll be just fine. I have Billy to keep me company."

"No, Murdock." Face said. "LA's my hometown and a great place to live. We can't stay on the road forever -- we need to settle down somewhere. Might as well be somewhere warm." He shuddered as he remembered lying in the snow in Chicago. "You're just an added bonus." Face added with a smile, hoping Murdock would buy his story.

Murdock pondered what Face said for a moment, then his own bright smile returned.

"That's great, guys. Really great. Hey, Faceman! Maybe you could find yourself a girlfriend if you wear that shirt I got you!"

"That pink t-shirt that says 'Hi, I'm your Destiny?'" Face smiled broadly and shook his head. "Not a chance, Murdock. Not a chance."

6 weeks later…

Lynch mumbled to himself as he entered his dark office and flipped on the light. It had been another unproductive day trying to find leads on the A-Team.

Right after the escape, tips flooded in as to their whereabouts. Most were cases of mistaken identities, but you never knew when one might prove to be legitimate, like in the Chicago diner. At first, he thought there was nothing worse than chasing down incorrect leads. Now he knew better. Having no leads at all was worse.

It seemed as if the team had fallen off the face of the earth. No new alleged sightings had been reported in over 4 weeks, and additional interviews of both Mrs. Baracus and Captain Murdock had turned up nothing.

He was at a dead end.

Lynch sighed and tossed his hat on his desk. Then he noticed that next to the discarded hat, there was a box, wrapped in plain, brown paper and tied with twine. It was simply addressed to "Colonel Lynch", with no return address or postmark. Someone must have delivered it.

He pulled back his chair and sat down to open the package. He peeled off the paper to reveal a worn shoe box. Lifting the lid, he found a small toy pistol and army green matchbox car inside. Puzzled, he looked to see if anything else was included.

At the bottom of the box was a white index card. It read "Merry Christmas, Lynch" in black marker.

It was signed "The A-Team."

The End


End file.
